Teardrops in the Snow
by Nagiana
Summary: When his younger brother is executed for allying himself with the Stormcloak cause, Ulfric Stormcloak immediately jumps to take care of his brother's widow and four children. When Ulfric and Mehra fall in love and get married, Mehra Stormcloak realizes that there is more to her new husband than what met the eye, and that the infamous Windhelm Butcher might have his eyes on her.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, here is my second Elder Scrolls story and it is very different from Unholy War, I know this. I also took some liberties and changed things. Like yes, I am aware that Ulfric Stormcloak is not related to Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced in anyway, much less have another younger brother. And yes, I know he was never married in the game. Despite these tedious technicalities, I really like the story and hope you guys will give it a chance :)**

**You know the drill, if you favorite and/or alert my story, then please review and tell me why. Don't need chapter by chapter reviews, but just one telling me why would be awesome. Also, no flames please. If you have something to say, PM me. Likewise, if you dont wanna leave a review but wanna tell me something good about my story, PM me as well. I try to get back to all PM's sent to me but if I don't get back to you in a few days, then please, be patient :)**

**Anyway, here it is! Read, Review and Enjoy!**

**- Nagiana**

* * *

It had been an uncustomarily warm day when the village of Riverwood slowly started coming back from the dead after that long, harsh winter that had plagued them that year. The fields surrounding them had been bursting with potatoes and carrots and wheat seeds - the cows in the fields were ready to calf, some with their first calves. The sheep were ready to be sheared and the pigs were busy snorting for truffles amidst the tree roots and fresh mud left from over the winter snows melting underneath the warm First Seed sun.

It was on this uncustomarily warm day, that the door to one of the sprawling Riverwood log houses creaked opened, where Mehra Heart-Fang stepped out into the bright sunlight, her hand immediately moving to cover her eyes whilst the other moved to her heavily pregnant stomach. Her three daughters, Daynila, twelve, Veresa, ten, and Naalia, seven, ran out from behind her skirts, laughing joyfully at finally being able to go outside after nine months of nothing but a bitter winter. Mehra smiled indulgently at her daughters as she leaned up against the doorframe, her hands moving to hug herself. It was much warmer than it had been, but there was still a chill to the air that the wind in Skyrim would never lose and that none of the other provinces of Tamriel ever received. It was one of the many things that made Skyrim, Skyrim, and Mehra wouldn't give it up for all the gold Septims in the world.

Her child kicked impatiently from within her, and Mehra grinned, her hand moving to run over the smooth expanse of her stomach. All three of her daughters had been winter babies, born in the thickest snowstorms of the past winters, leaving only her husband to help her with the births. She was happy that she was finally having a spring baby, and not just any spring baby, but hopefully a long awaited for boy as well.

She felt a large, callused hand gently cover the hand that was on her stomach, and deliciously full lips connect with the nape of her neck. Mehra grinned as her husband's strong arms wrapped around her waist, bringing her soft body against the hard muscles of his front. Together, they watched their daughters play in the blooming yard before them, both of them standing there in silence until Mehra broke it,

"Spring has come at last, causing winter to flee on swift wings . . ." She spoke quietly, her Imperial accent lilting and sensual. Tharsten Heart-Fang nodded and smiled at his wife's words.

"And with spring comes building repairs and with building repairs comes logging season. They will need me down at the sawmill this morning . . . think you can spare me for a few hours?" Mehra smiled at his question and gazed at him over her shoulder.

"I think I'll be able to. I'll probably be in the gardens anyway. They need their harvesting before it gets too warm - the fields as well. You will probably find me and the girls there upon your return . . ." She told him and Tharsten nodded as he leaned down and kissed her deeply, passionately, his tongue tasting her - the sweetness of her and all the goodness that the world seemed to offer. When they broke apart, she grinned.

"Hopefully I won't go into labor while you're gone. You'll want to be here when our son is born, I think . . ." She spoke and Tharsten returned the grin.

"Well you _do_ give birth quickly and easily - almost like a field hand! So if possible, yes, that would be nice!" He teased and Mehra grinned and let out a playfully indignant sound as she punched him on the arm. He laughed and hugged her close to him, his nose burying behind her ear, where he breathed in her scent. The heady perfume of lilies-of-the-valley and the slight twinge of sweat from the previous night (which was particularly warm from the burning fire in the grates) filled his nose, making him sigh in contentment. "I will be oh so glad when you do, too . . ." He whispered, his voice a tad husky, and Mehra grinned, her hands covering his on her stomach.

"I'll have to wait three months at the most for the bleeding to stop . . ."

"Mehra, I've already waited five months! I think I can wait another three!" He spoke sardonically and Mehra sighed.

"You better get off to the mill . . . Gerdur doesn't like it when her business partner is late, you know!" She teased him, and Tharsten nodded in agreement as he planted one last kiss on her neck and then inched by her to the outside world. Mehra stood and watched with an indulgent smile playing on her face as Tharsten hugged and kissed each of his daughters' goodbye, promising them to be back in time for dinner. Mehra knew he would be back long before then, however. He never liked to leave her for long when she was this ready to give birth.

Mehra watched her husband walk down the shadowy path to the mills, his tool bag swung over his shoulder. He turned around and waved, which she returned with a grin and a blown kiss. She saw him grin back as he turned around and continued on his way down the path to the rushing river and sawmill. Mehra watched him go until he completely disappeared, in which case she grinned and pushed herself off of the doorframe. She pulled the door closed behind her before she moved down the stone steps.

"I have to go around back to the gardens; you girls want to come with me? I shall need help with the harvesting, I think . . ." She asked them, and each of her daughters nodded and bounded off in front of her, singing and dancing a Nordic nursery rhyme and picking flowers as they went. Mehra smiled fondly at her daughters as they did so and whenever they picked a particularly pretty flower, they would bound back over to her and hand to her.

"Here's a flower for you momma! It's pretty . . . like you!" Mehra smiled adoringly down at her youngest daughter, Naalia, and took the flower, where she brought it to her nose and breathed in the lovely scent before she bent down and planted a kiss on her daughter's forehead.

"But it's not as pretty as you, sweetling!" She told her as she gently slid the flower behind the youngest Heart-Fang's ear. Naalia grinned at her mother's words as she bounded off after her sister's, their bright skirts and raven-colored locks bouncing behind them. Mehra fallowed them and the labyrinth of stone pathways, the gardens dark and welcoming underneath the bright spring sun, the leaning wooden fences creaking and groaning in the slight wind. Two separate pastures lay a ways from the gardens, one holding Tharsten's herd of horses that he sold to travelers and adventurers when the herd grew too big, and the other held a few fat cattle, sheep and pigs. Chickens clucked and pecked around the pastures and the pathways, bounding off when the laughing girls started chasing them, their wolfhound barking at their heels, his tail wagging through the air. Everything they needed was on their homestead, situated a little ways behind the village square. It was peaceful and quiet . . . something that Mehra enjoyed quite a lot.

Mehra smiled a small smile as she opened the rickety gate and entered the gardens, picking up a nearby basket when she entered. She felt the dirt underneath her feet and breathed in the richness of the soil, the entwining smells of the horses and smoke wafting up from the chimneys of the other nearby farms and houses. She had grown up in the little city of Morthal, a swampy dung heap if she had ever seen one, and which was located a week's ride from the capital of Solitude, and the feel of thick, warm soil underneath her feet instead of cold, marshy dampness, was always a small pleasure to her.

Of course, the only jobs in Morthal for a woman was a housewife to an alcoholic husband and raising seven children (which was her mother's esteemed profession) - who himself was a logger (her father's profession), a town guardsman or a herder - or a barmaid working in the local bar. Neither of those options suited Mehra's tastes, but at that time, she had little else to consider until she met Tharsten and his brothers, and needless to say, she was glad when Tharsten proposed and they moved here to Riverwood, where Tharsten was partner in the ownership of the prosperous sawmill a little ways outside of the village.

Mehra called her daughters to her and they came obediently, where all four of them started rummaging around in the soil, harvesting the potatoes, carrots and other root vegetables that they had planted during the fall to be harvested in the spring. They all went in the basket at their feet and slowly it filled to the sounds of singing and laughter until they were done, the soil pockmarked here and there from the removal of vegetables.

"Mommy, can we plant an orchard this year?"

Mehra sat back on her haunches with a small grunt, her hand on the small of her back. She glanced at the oldest, Daynila, who had been the one to voice the question. All three of them were still digging through the dirt with their small hands, trying to root out any remaining vegetables that their work could have missed.

"I don't know, sweet thing. I mentioned it to your father yesterday, but he spoke of how the weather this year might not be the best for it. But we'll try if we can and the weather can afford it."

Mehra couldn't help but grin at the sounds of her daughters talking excitingly to each to other on what they wanted to plant. Naalia wanted to plant oranges, Veresa pears, but Daynila insisted that both of them would not be able to tolerate the harsh Skyrim weather and insisted that apples were the way to go. Mehra shook her head in loving disbelief as she stood then, her hand on the small of her back the entire time.

She stretched when she finally got clumsily to her feet, her hands reaching up to the cloudless blue sky, and a gentle breeze wafted through the pitch black locks that her daughters had inherited instead of their father's auburn tresses.

Mehra grinned and waved to two young women making their way to the local store, baskets of produce, clean linen and other miscellaneous things in their hands. One was showing the beginning signs of a pregnancy, and Mehra smiled a small smile, uttering a prayer of thanks to Mara. The newly pregnant woman beamed and waved back. Her name was Camilla and she was the younger sister of Lucan Valerius, who owned the local general store in the village and who was also married to the local Nord Bard, Sven. For the longest time, Camilla and Sven had been having trouble conceiving a child until just a few months until spring came, when Camilla had announced that she and Sven were expecting their first child. Mehra couldn't be happier for her best friend who the burden of trying to conceive a child and failing time-after-time, was starting to take its toll on the slight woman before it actually happened.

Camilla and the other woman immediately changed course and made their way over to Mehra, who put a hand on her stomach and walked over to the slightly leaning fence separating them, her children still digging in the dirt behind her. "Mehra, how are you doing?" Camilla asked her friend as they hugged over the fence. Mehra grinned and nodded.

"I am well and . . . eagerly awaiting the birth of me and Tharsten's son, you can be sure!" She told them, beaming, and Camilla sighed.

"Yes, and again it seems, Mehra! I swear to Mara, will you ever stop having children?" She teased her good-naturedly, and Mehra laughed in return.

"I think after this one, if it is a son, I would like to stop. I love my children, but alas, I feel like they tire me more quickly now. It is the price of motherhood, I suppose. Besides, I am getting too old . . . Daynila _is_ twelve, after all!" She told them quietly, and Camilla waved her hand through the air before leaning into her conspiratorially.

"I bet if your husband was Ulfric Stormcloak, you'd be having more children!" She teased, her eyes alighting with mirth, and Mehra immediately blushed at her friend's words. There had been a time, thirteen long years ago, when she and Ulfric Stormcloak, the eldest brother to her own husband, and before Ulfric had gotten so embroiled in Skyrim politics, had formed a relationship filled to the brim with love and mounting passion. But like everything else, it had slowly tarnished when he had been captured and then taken up the throne as Jarl of Windhelm when he returned, until it was nothing. It was then that she had married Tharsten, and she couldn't be happier.

However, sometimes Mehra found that she could delude herself.

"Camilla, you go too far!" She hissed to her friend before she glanced over her shoulder to see if her children were listening to their conversation. They were not, for they were over at the horse pasture, feeding the horses some of the stunted carrots they had managed to dig up, a gentle palomino broodmare garnering most of their attention. She then glanced at the woman standing beside Camilla, and Camilla waved her hand through the air again.

"Oh how stupid of me! Mehra, this is Genvissa Gray-Mane! She traveled here a day or so ago with Ralof and she's resupplying before she goes on to Whiterun. You can trust her." Mehra smiled and shook hands with the Nord woman whose white-blonde waves sparkled in the sun alongside her twinkling blue eyes. Mehra sighed.

"Ralof came back to Riverwood and didn't think to pay me a visit?" She asked tersely and Camilla laughed.

"He wanted to, Mehra, he really did, but he had to get on! He had to make sure Windhelm was safe until Ulfric got back," Then Camilla took up one of her hands. "Speaking of Ulfric, rumor has it that he's coming to Riverwood on his way back to Windhelm from being captured and almost getting himself executed in Helgen in a few days ago! Ralof was with him too. He'll be staying here a few days before he moves on . . ." Mehra's eyes widened in surprise and she visibly recoiled.

"Really, is that true? I and Tharsten have had no word from him and we certainly did not he was almost _executed_! See, this is why Ralof should have visited before he left!" Camilla adopted a look of surprise on her face.

"I wonder . . ." She trailed off, the words not needing to be said. When Ulfric and Mehra's relationship dissolved and she married his youngest brother, it understandably left Ulfric feeling very bitter. Could he still be so bitter as to ignore his younger brother and his family on his journey to their own home city, even after twelve long years, during which much could have been changed?

Mehra shook her head stubbornly. "No, Ulfric has always been a logical man as long as I have known him! Surely he must have seen that our relationship could not have gone any further than what it was! He was to become the Jarl of Windhelm and I was just a simple girl from Morthal without a drop of noble blood in my veins! We could never have been . . . my blood would have seen to that!"

_And our children would have been bastards if I had stayed with him and we had not married . . . surely he would have seen that and would not have blamed me for wanting to end it when I did . . . _She thought to herself, but as she thought those words, she felt a tad uneasy.

_Did he?_


	2. Chapter 2

**This chapter DOES have a lemon in it, but its not explicent really, so don't worry :)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Skyrim in any shape, form or fashion. The only people I own are Mehra, Tharsten, the children and Arya.**

* * *

_Three Months Later . . ._

_"Dragonborn, Dragonborn_

_By his honor is sworn_

_To keep evil forever at bay_

_And the fiercest foes rout_

_When they hear triumph's shout_

_Dragonborn for your blessing we pray . . ."_

Mehra smiled lovingly as she watched Tharsten sing to the children in front of fire, his auburn hair with shoots of blonde threaded throughout the silky locks, twinkled in the light, making it seem even more of a fiery color than it actually was. They held him rapt attention, even though the _Dovahkiin_ poem had been told to them countless of times. It was mainly because Tharsten didn't know many others, but the children didn't care. They loved it all the same.

_"And the scrolls have foretold_

_Of black wings in the cold_

_That when brothers wage war come unfurled_

_Alduin, bane of kings_

_Ancient shadow unbound_

_With a hunger to swallow the world . . ."_

He finished the poem with the children clapping and begging him for answers to their questions. Tharsten grinned and laughed as his daughters flocked around him, each fighting for the prestigious spot on his lap that Naalia almost always managed to win.

He picked the youngest Heart-Fang up and set her in his lap, much to the whining protests of the other two. Tharsten calmed them with gentle words and loving smiles; gentle words and loving smiles that made Mehra proud that she had married him.

"Girls, it is time for bed . . ." She told them as she wiped her soapy hands off on a nearby rag lying on the dinner table, and they let out another splattering of whiny protests. Mehra groaned quietly and closed her eyes, feeling another wave of weariness descend upon her at the sounds of their whines. Honestly, could she not once do something or order something without any opposition?

Tharsten noticed his wife's taut weariness keenly and smiled weakly. "Don't worry love - I'll put them to bed. Go lie down - you need it!" He told her firmly, and Mehra smiled thankfully at her husband. She watched as the huge Nordic man stood, Naalia staying in his arms the entire time. The little girl wrapped her arms around her father's neck and buried her face in his hair to keep from looking down. Tharsten was a big man - big even for a Nord and like his two older brothers were as well, and Naalia was already showing a phobia of heights. It was understandable that she would be afraid to look down when she was in her father's arms, although he constantly promised her that he would never drop her.

"You p-promise that you w-won't drop me daddy . . .?" She asked him in a voice that she meant to be serious, but one that her parents could tell was quivery with barely concealed fear. When she was afraid, Naalia had the tendency to stutter, which, fortunately for them, only came out when she was scared.

Tharsten Heart-Fang chuckled and nodded as he planted a loving kiss on his youngest daughter's temple. "I promise Naalia . . . I will never drop you and even if I did, you can bet that I would beat you to the floor and catch you before you hit it!" Naalia laughed nervously at this, although his words did get her to look hesitantly to the floor. What she saw must have been a long way down indeed, for she let out a terrified squeak and rushed back to bury her face in her father's neck. Tharsten chuckled again and he shared a rolling-of-the-eyes moment with his wife before he ushered their children into their bedroom, all of them yawning as they went except for Naalia, who seemed too scared to be even remotely thinking of such a minute thing as 'sleep'.

Mehra sighed and moved to lean up against the table, where she put her face in her hands and rubbed. She was so tired . . . all she wanted to do was sleep –

Her thoughts were interrupted, however, by the strong cries of a baby coming from the master bedroom seconds later. A weak smile appeared on her face as she pushed herself off the table and moved into the master bedroom, where she saw pudgy fists flying through the air from over in the cradle. There, wrapped in the warmest wolf and rabbit furs money could buy in Riverwood, lay Thorald Heart-Fang, the three-month-old son of Tharsten and Mehra.

"Is he hungry?"

Mehra turned around at the sound of her husband's voice a few minutes later, and shook her head. "No, he just kicked the blankets away and became cold . . ." She told him as she tucked the furred blankets around her son again. He struggled for a moment but when he finally became comfortable, he fell into another deep sleep. She glanced behind her at him again. "You put the girls to bed already?"

Tharsten nodded as he began unlacing his arm bracers. "Aye, I did, although it took me long enough. Naalia made me check every nook and cranny in that room for trolls and Draugr before she would finally let me go in peace. The others fell asleep fast enough, though . . ." He was struggling with a knot in the laces of his bracers as he spoke, and gave up with a frustrated groan, his eyes rolling in irritation. Mehra smiled a small smile as she moved over to him and gently batted his hand away, where she began working at the knot. Tharsten was able to get a knot in damn near everything, in the most unwelcome times. It was a very annoying talent, one that thankfully his wife could fix in almost every one of the situations.

"They like it when you tuck them into bed, you know . . ." She told him quietly. "You're gone much of the day and well into the night sometimes . . . they hardly see you on those days. They miss you." Tharsten stayed silent for a moment after she finished speaking He simply gazed at his wife with an expressionless face before he spoke,

"And do you know about my wife? Does she miss me?"

Mehra had finished untying the knot in the laces of Tharsten's bracers by then, and smiled up at him at his question as he slipped them off his arms and set them down on a nearby dresser. "She misses her husband quite a lot . . ." She spoke quietly, and Tharsten smiled weakly as he brushed aside a lock of her pitch black hair.

"Well when you next see her, can you tell her that I love her with all my heart and miss her deeply?" He inquired, and Mehra grinned.

"Why don't you tell her yourself?" She asked, and Tharsten returned the grin as he bent down slightly and captured her lips with his. He broke apart and grinned.

"Why in the name of Dibella are we still here talking, then?"

They then came together with the passionate fervency of two lovers joined together after months of separation. Their mouths locked with the same sense of urgency, their tongues dancing and entwining in a play of intimacy that seemed so terribly secretive, almost as if it was something only they could do. Their hands ran over the other's bodies, groping and squeezing with their hands with what their mouths could not.

Mehra let out a low moan as Tharsten gently lowered her down onto the bed behind them, his lips moving to caress the smooth skin of her neck - his teeth worrying at the skin a little when he did so, until she squirmed underneath him, begging for more. Their fingers groped at the ties to the other's clothing, squirming and shifting and pulling them open until her fingers were wrapped around his silky flesh, causing him to groan deeply into her mouth as she caressed him and stroked him into a throbbing rigidness.

They made love with a passion that astounded them both and left them both breathless and in awe. The darkness of her skin contrasted with his in a way that left him breathless, and combined with the way her thighs would so deliciously cling to his lean hips and her nails to scrape against his back when he angled himself _just_ that certain way, made him positively lightheaded with desire.

And when they came moments later, his name appeared as a constant prayer on her lips, and her hands scrambled for purchase on the wood and stone wall above her head – a purchase she wouldn't find. Eventually, her hands rested on his arms instead, and she gripped him as they came, their lips finding each other's again and her legs tightening around him as she milked him to the last drop.

They slept then, not a care in the world. Mehra didn't dream of the impending war, of the dragons sightings at Helgen . . . and she certainly didn't dream of Ulfric Stormcloak.

* * *

It had been early in the following morning when the soldiers had come for him.

They both had been in a deep sleep, the kind of sleep customary for two people sleeping in each other's arms after making passionate love, but the harsh pounding of a steel mailed fist on the front door was enough to awaken them.

Mehra had been the first to hear the pounding. She sat up slightly, groggy-eyed, and shuffled a yawn as she shook Tharsten awake. He groaned and mumbled something, but Mehra shook him again, harder. "Tharsten, wake up, there's someone at the door . . ."

Tharsten sat up, as groggy-eyed as his wife, and he too shuffled a yawn. "Who's knocking at this time of the morning? Go check on the children and answer the door, I'll be there in a minute." He told her, and Mehra put a hand on Tharsten's shoulder, suddenly very much awake.

"Tharsten, what if it's . . . someone dangerous?" She asked, and Tharsten gazed at her for a moment before finally nodding in agreement.

"Yes, you're right. Check on the children and I'll go with you to answer the door." He told her, and Mehra smiled a small smile of thanks as she stood and slipped on a furred robe. She moved over to the cradle, where Thorald slept soundlessly, his tiny chest rising and falling as he navigated the seas of the dream world, his tiny fist lying beside his turned face. Mehra smiled lovingly down at her son and bent down, where she planted a gentle, loving kiss on her son's temple.

"May Mara keep you, my son . . ." Mehra whispered before she stood and left the room. She approached the door leading to the girls' room and slowly opened it. It let out a little creak, but not enough to have awakened them. Mehra stuck her head in and saw that they too, were sleeping soundly. Naalia let out a sigh and turned over onto her side as Mehra stuck her head in and she smiled as she gently closed the door. Tharsten was done getting dressed by the time she quietly closed the door to the girls' room, and he was wearing the clothes he normally wore when they were traveling to Windhelm or some other bigger city. Mehra furrowed her eyebrows in confusion as she gazed at her husband.

"Tharsten . . . why are you dressed like you're going somewhere?" She asked him slowly, and Tharsten sighed and pursed his lips.

"Mehra, something happened at the mill today. I meant to tell you -"

"You meant to tell me what, Tharsten?" She interrupted him, and he sighed again and took a few steps towards her. She took a few steps back. A look of slight frustration appeared in Tharsten's eyes when he saw his wife's reaction.

"I didn't think it would be nothing big, but Ulfric needs as much support as he can! He-he's my brother, Mehra, and I-I -"

Tharsten was interrupted by the same steel mailed fist slamming against the heavy wood of the barred front door. "Open this door in the name of the Imperial Legion!" A gruff voice accompanied the steel mailed fist, and Mehra turned her wide eyes onto Tharsten, a look of fear echoing in them.

"Tharsten, what did you do!?" She demanded shrilly, and by this time, the pounding on the door had awoken the girls. Each of them was crowded into the doorway of their bedroom, their small hands rubbing at their tired eyes.

"Mommy, daddy, what's going on . . .? Why is someone pounding on the door?" Veresa asked them, but they both ignored her.

"I wasn't thinking at the time, Mehra! The guy wouldn't let up over how Ulfric was a usurper and how Skyrim would go to the dogs if he ever became High King! I didn't think, I was so angry and then, he just . . . he was dead."

At the last three words that had come out of his mouth, everything seemed to become as silent as the grave. The pounding on the door stopped, everyone's breathing could barely be heard, and Mehra had been stunned into speechlessness. Her eyes were wide with terror and fear and she slowly shook her head.

"Tharsten . . . you did _what_?!" She demanded of him quietly, and Tharsten looked down, an expression of agony laced sadness on his face.

"I'm sorry Mehra! I know I shouldn't have done it, but I was angry and wasn't thinking straight -"

"Do you know what you have done to us, Tharsten!?" Mehra shrieked at him, her hands shaking in the air before her. "Do you know what the people in the village will think of our family now?! Tharsten, how could you have been so stupid as to do something like this?"

"This is your last warning! Open the door now in the name of the Imperial Legion, or we will break down the door and take Tharsten Heart-Fang by force!"

Tharsten's eyes darted to the door before they landed back onto Mehra. They scanned her face, committing every plane, curve and valley to memory. Then, he did the same with his daughters. "Mehra, I have to go with them," He told her quietly. "I cannot live with what I have done!" He told her, and Mehra swallowed heavily and shook her head.

"But there's Ulfric, Tharsten! Ulfric, he can . . . he's coming in a few days according to Camilla! Surely you can languish in Riverwood's dungeons until he gets here! He can do something about this!" Tharsten shook his head.

"Ulfric cannot get involved with this, Mehra, you know this! His reputation is seedy right now at best after his botched execution, and he doesn't exactly have the right kind of friendship with Jarl Balgruuf in order to get me out of this! Not-to-mention, he cannot interfere with something like this! Even though I am his brother, he cannot interfere without risk losing his grasp on the High Throne -"

"Damn the High Throne!" Mehra interrupted him passionately and shrilly with the ghost of tears in her eyes. She moved over to him, her hands moving to frame his face. "I will lose my husband and our daughters and our son will lose their father! He is your _brother_, Tharsten - he will do this because you are _family_!" She told him, and Tharsten shook his head mournfully.

"We all must sacrifice for Skyrim, Mehra! I don't expect you to understand, you're not really from here, but Skyrim is like our mother! We will not allow her to fall deeper into the clutches of the Thalmor!"

Mehra stepped back a little, a look of betrayal crossing her face. "How can you say that I don't understand all this, Tharsten? Skyrim is my home, as much as she is yours, as much as she is our children's! I would fight for her like the Stormcloaks do - otherwise, I wouldn't be on you and Ulfric's side of the war! And besides . . . the Imperials of Cyrodiil hold the same views as the Nords of Skyrim when it comes to their countries! Why else do you think we fought so hard during the Great War, even though we lost?" Mehra shook her head in disgust. "I just can't believe you right now Tharsten!"

"This is the last warning -!"

The Imperial Soldier did not get a chance to have the words out of his mouth, because Tharsten had marched over and swung the door open. There were four soldiers standing there, and Tharsten looked down at the floor as he spoke. "I am Tharsten Heart-Fang . . ." He told them, and the leader of the small group coughed and nodded.

"Yes, well, very well! Tharsten Heart-Fang, you are wanted for the murder of a certain Thorald Gray-Mane, heir to the Gray-Mane family, and for committing treason by conferring with the rebel turncloak, Ulfric Stormcloak -"

Mehra gasped and stepped forward, her hand moving onto Tharsten's shoulder. "He was the heir to the Gray-Mane's? Tharsten, what have you -!"

"You are to accompany us to the nearest city, where the Jarl will decide your fate. The nearest city from here is Whiterun, and the Jarl Balgruuf the Greater will decide your punishment . . ." The Imperial Soldier finished, unheeded by Mehra's outburst, and Tharsten turned his eyes onto Mehra.

"Tharsten, Whiterun is practically run by the Gray-Mane's! They will want your head on a silver platter for this!" She told him and Tharsten nodded as one of the Imperial Soldiers stepped forward and clapped him in chains.

"I know, sweet thing, I know. Mehra, know that I love you with all my heart, and tell the children the same . . ." Mehra swallowed heavily, tears filling her eyes again. She nodded as he continued. "When the news reaches you that I . . . that I have finally passed on to Sovngarde, I beg you, Mehra, for the sake of our children, please, move on!" Mehra nodded as her hand moved to cup his cheek.

"I love you, Tharsten . . ." She whispered, and Tharsten nodded in agreement as he leaned into her touch.

"I love you too . . . my little Imperial . . ." He whispered back and had just enough time to plant a loving kiss on her lips before the Imperial Soldiers yanked him forward. He dutifully walked behind them, leaving Mehra to crumple in the threshold of the door, tears streaming down her face as their children ran to surround their mother, their small faces full of tears and confusion as well.


	3. Chapter 3

_Two months later . . ._

"You look well . . . you look beautiful!"

Mehra smiled and blushed at Ulfric Stormcloak's words as they walked down the stone streets of Riverwood in the direction of the house that Mehra shared with her children and had once shared with Tharsten before his incarceration and eventual execution.

"I thank you, Ulfric . . . you are too kind . . ." She replied as he took her hand and steered her gently around a muddy rain puddle that looked deeper than what met the eye. Mehra smiled in thanks but moved away from him slightly, her hand moving out from underneath his. He sighed and looked away.

"And how have the children been faring lately?"

Mehra sighed and shrugged weakly as they turned onto a smaller road that led to her house. They were outside of the main hub of Riverwood activity now, and Ulfric could see Mehra relax slightly. "They are well, given the circumstances," She told him. "Only Daynila has an inkling of what is going on, and even then, I think she is afraid to ask me what has truly befallen her father!" Mehra bowed her head and closed her eyes as a tear leaked out from underneath one closed eyelid. "It's been hard on all of us, Ulfric," Mehra confessed, her voice choked with tears. "The girls are quiet and subdued . . . not at all how they acted when Tharsten was here. Thorald is still just a baby, he doesn't understand, but . . . but one day he will ask and I don't know what I will tell him!"

By that time, Ulfric and Mehra had stopped walking at the growing hints that Mehra was about to cry, and Ulfric gently pulled her into his arms, where she began sobbing into his furred robes. "If it wasn't for you, Ulfric, sending us whatever gold and excess supplies we needed, and then sending us people to help with the mill and the farm, I don't know what we would do!" She sobbed. "There would be no way I could return to my family in Morthal, they would shun me for what . . . _we did_!"

"Like what we did back then had been so horrible!" Ulfric chuckled, the sound of his deep, rugged voice sending shivers down her spine that she was thankful he deciphered as fresh sobs. "Like our hidden kisses in the snowy moonlight was so calamitous!"

"It could have led to something more . . . and that something more _could_ have been the disaster they were talking about!" She told him, her voice muffled from her face being buried in his robes, and Ulfric's expression softened as he gently tilted her head up to look into her eyes.

"Mehra, come live with me! You and all the children, just come live with me in Windhelm. The castle has been too lonely since my wife and child died in the childbed, and I have become too sullen I've found. The castle is big and accommodating, the children would have their own rooms or one big room if you or they wished! There would be other children of the court for them to play with . . ." He shook his head as he took her hand. "Say you will, Mehra!" He begged her, and Mehra sighed.

"Ulfric, what would we do about the mill and the farm? What would we do about them?" She asked, and Ulfric nodded. He had already planned for that.

"I will employ people to keep them up and running until the time comes that Thorald comes of age to inherit them. Trust me, I will pay and handle everything, Mehra, and I'm sure Gerdur won't let the mill go to complete waste! Just . . . tell me that you and the children will come live with me at Windhelm! I just . . . I don't feel _right_ leaving you and the young ones alone out here! What if something dangerous happened and you and the children . . . you and the children didn't make it?" Mehra smiled a small smile. His worry for them was endearing. Of course, everything about Ulfric Stormcloak was endearing to her now that Tharsten was out of their lives and never coming back. He reminded her of a more gallant and chivalrous Tharsten, who was also more logical thinking. It was a relief being around someone who was more than capable and ready to take a temporary hold of the reins.

And of course, Ulfric _had_ been her first choice . . .

Two months and two days ago when Ulfric and his guards had finally entered Riverwood, only to find his brother's family struggling to eat because Tharsten had been carted off to Whiterun to await a trial - Ulfric became livid. He demanded to know who had carted off his brother to Whiterun, and when he learned that the soldiers were no longer there, he vowed to Mehra that Tharsten would have justice and that he would take care of them. Mehra did not believe him at first, but when a man showed up on her doorstep one morning wearing the Windhelm colors of blue and white, a fat purse of gold tied to his belt and servants standing behind him carrying crates of food and supplies and saying that they were there to help with the farm and mill, well. . . Mehra had no choice but to believe him then!

Ulfric gently took up Mehra's hands and pressed his lips to the now-callused palms. His eyes never wavered from hers and she swallowed heavily. "Stay with me . . . for old time's sake! It's the least I can do for how I treated you after you and Tharsten's engagement!" He pleaded with her quietly, and one of Mehra's eyebrows rose in amusement.

"Will our old relationship resume for 'old time's sake'?" She asked him, and Ulfric chuckled.

"I do need a wife, yes, but I will not sink so low as to apprehend my brother's widow!" He assured her. "Unless of course, you do not wish to be a widow no longer . . .?" There was a hint of hopefulness to his voice, but she saw in his eyes that if she told him no, he would no choice but to respect her wishes. But then again, she _had_ promised Tharsten that she would move on . . . and with Ulfric, they could just resume the love and devotion that they had, had before everything dissolved between them - even though she knew it would not be nearly that easy. She still loved Tharsten, even after the news came that his head had rolled across the straw and wood of the scaffold hastily created in Whiterun. But with Ulfric . . . maybe he could help her get over his brother and move on.

Mehra smiled and looked down. "I would be honored, Ulfric . . . to become your wife." She spoke and Ulfric immediately broke out into a broad grin. He pressed his lips to her palms again, his eyes alight with happiness.

"You have made me the happiest man on Nirn, Mehra!" He told her. "You won't ever regret it, I promise!"

She felt a stab of uneasiness at his assuring words, but then he wrapped his strong arms around her waist and pulled her closer to him, where his lips descended _so_ deliciously onto hers . . .!

And all of a sudden, Mehra got the hint that she wouldn't regret it after all.

* * *

"I'm here for prisoner transport . . ."

The Morthal Prison Guard looked up as his colleague entered the prison, a prisoner dressed in drab gray robes and with a messy auburn beard down to his collarbone clapped in irons beside him. The Officer nodded and stood, where he got out a sheaf of parchment.

"Where is he from?"

"Dunno. He was found amid the ruins of a crashed prison caravan outside of Rorikstead. He was only prisoner found alive, and we couldn't find his records. We think he was on his way to Solitude, but aren't entirely sure . . ." The Prison Officer nodded as he jotted down a few things on the sheaf of parchment, and then gestured to the prison cell directly beside them.

"That cell's free for now. Feel free to dump him there until we get an envoy from Solitude to check him out and see if they were expecting a prison caravan in the next few weeks." The Prison Guard nodded as he shuffled the prisoner to the cell, where he clanged the gate behind him.

"Hey, have you heard the news?" He asked the Officer as he locked the cell, and the Officer shook his head as he continued to write.

"What news?"

"Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak is getting married again!" The Officer stopped what he was doing and gazed up at the Prison Guard in incredulity.

"He's getting married again so soon?" He asked, and the Guard nodded.

"Aye, and from what I've heard, she's a beauty too! Imperial, if the rumors are straight, although she leans towards maybe having a little Redguard in her blood. She has olive skin, jet black hair . . . although she is reported to have _red_ eyes!"

"Huh . . . that's weird. Does she have Dunmer blood too?" The Officer asked him as he went back to writing, and the Guard shook his head.

"Maybe on down the line, but nothing to make you immediately think 'oh, she has Dunmer in her veins!'. Nah, you immediately think Imperial and Redguard." The Officer nodded, telling him that he was still listening, and the Guard continued,

"She has four kids already, and I have to commend Ulfric on wanting to marry a woman with four kids! I wouldn't care how pretty she is, I wouldn't be willing to care for that many kids unless they were my own!"

"Well, you're not as rich as the Jarl, either," The Officer chuckled. "Is she young?"

"Uh, she's maybe in her late twenties – twenty-nine maybe. She's beautiful and still young, with four young children of her own!"

"Well, the Jarl of Windhelm is rich, relatively young and _very_ lusty from what I hear! He won't mind raising and caring for her children and you mark my words, he'll have her birthing him a strong, squalling baby boy within nine months after the wedding - I'd wager a pint on that!" The Officer said and the Guard grinned.

"I'll hold you to that promise, old man! But, as I was saying, if the rumors hold some truth, she's a widow too, but not just any widow, but the widow to his own brother!"

The Officer stopped what he was doing for the second time and gazed at the guard in incredulity. "Are you _shitting_ me? She's Tharsten Heart-Fang's widow?! Didn't they behead him for treason and murder in Whiterun a few weeks ago?" The Guard nodded and neither noticed that the prisoner was staying stock still, seeming to listen on everything they were saying.

"Aye, they did. Of course, he tried to lessen his brother's sentence, but not even Ulfric Stormcloak has that much power, especially outside of his domain! He lessened the worries of his brother's widow, however, by paying for her taxes and sending people to help out on their farm and in their sawmill -"

The Officer scoffed, interrupting the Guard mid-sentence. "Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if he was taking care of something else, if you get my meaning. . ." He sat back and made a lewd gesture at his crotch, something that the Guard shook his head at, laughter coming from his grinning face.

"Oh no ser, from what I heard, she's managed to keep him on a tightly-held leash! He hasn't so much as touched her without her coquettishly pushing him away, and I don't blame him for popping the question, especially if she spurned him and he wants her! He has already taken care of them like they were his own and was the one to deliver the news of Tharsten Heart-Fang's execution. Quite frankly, I'm not surprised he sweetened the deal on his part by marrying his brother's pretty widow. If I didn't know any better, I wouldn't be surprised if he had been lusting for her for a long time now and the death of his brother was just a stroke of good luck where Ulfric was concerned!"

"Wait! Isn't she the one that he had that dalliance with when he visited here that one time? She's from here, ain't she? Isn't she Nessarose and Quintus Alvarus's daughter?" The Guard nodded.

"She's the very same woman, and your right - I think she's from here."

The Officer let out a whistle of approval, his eyes wide with the same emotion. "My sister lives in Riverwood. If Skjorta has any say in it, Mehra Heart-Fang's beauty is _not_ overstated! If anything, it's _understated_! Skjorta never could understand why or how Tharsten Heart-Fang ever managed to land him a woman like that, especially when it was common knowledge that she had captured the eye of his much more handsome and powerful older brother when she still lived here!"

The Guard shrugged. "Yeah, I know, but hey, that's all I've heard so far."

"Do you know when the wedding is?" He asked, and the Guard shook his head and shrugged again as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. He looked to the side of him and saw a bottle of ale, still corked. He gestured to it.

"Are you going to drink that?" The Officer shook his head.

"No, you can have it. So answer the question: do you know when the wedding is?" The Guard shook his head as he popped the cap off of the bottle

"No idea. But I can tell you something!" The Guard took a swig of the ale before he continued, "If she keeps his cock on a leash any longer, it ain't going to be long until there _is_ a wedding! Ulfric ain't nothing but devout, and no man ain't going to sit idly by and feel a woman stroking and teasing him while knowing that he can't do anything about it! There's going to be a wedding soon, mark my words! He'll want her writhing and moaning unabashedly in his bed by month's end, 'cause - let's face it - what man doesn't when it comes to a woman of her beauty?" The Officer raised an eyebrow in amusement, neither noticing the prisoner's flinch at the Guard's choice of words.

"You think that soon?"

"Oh, I don't think so friend, I _know_ so!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Yeah, yeah, I'm extremely sorry for the long wait for this chapter but I've been trying to wait to get more followers and/or favorites and speaking that looks like it will never happen, then I mineaswell update, at least for my sanity**

**There is a pretty explicit lemon in this chapter. If you don't like it then please skip it, I don't feel like reading any Flames (and even though I've already asked for no Flames to be submitted via review)**

**Anyway! Read, Review and Enjoy!**

**- Nagiana**

**PS - I know I do take certain liberties during the writing of this story (ex. I know Yrsarald Thrice Pierced is not Ulfric Stormcloak's brother; I know Ulfric did not have a wife prior to the game) so please, take them as what they are and roll with it.**

* * *

Compared to Riverwood, Windhelm was a bleak and dingy place. It was a constantly snowy place too, where blizzards were like family and the stone roads were covered in muddy brown slush that mixed with the mud and dirt to create a substance that was nothing like the clean white snow of Winterhold and Riverwood or even Morthal. The roads were also missing stones in some places, the poor district filled with clapboard houses and frozen mud huts with sagging straw roofs. In some places, the only road was a muddy lane filled with human and animal excrement and rubbish. The Inns were respectable and warm, however, the traders and economy bustling, and Ulfric promised her that the disrepair of the town could be attributed to his predecessor, his, Tharsten and their other brother, Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced's father, Thormund Stormcloak, who was more interested in hoarding gold and the newest courtesans in Windhelm, than care about his people or how his city looked to the rest of Skyrim. He had cared even less about how his children were raised, which could be attributed to Tharsten disowning himself and taking up the name Heart-Fang instead.

The castle was as Ulfric had described it, however, all on the journey from Riverwood to Windhelm. It was warm and spacious, clean and expertly furnished. Sky blue rugs stretched down the length of the long hallways, and fires were built in every walk-in fireplace and nook and cranny of the castle. The stones sucked up the heat like leeches, creating a constant heat that the rest of the castles of Skyrim seemed to lack. Also, the castle being built on natural hot-springs didn't make matters all that much worse either. The windows were long and bright, good for letting in a lot of the sparse winter sun, which brightened the place even more. Ulfric's throne was large and imposing and simply stunted the monolithic man whenever he sat in it, giving him the appearance of a giant.

The second floor of the castle, which housed the living quarters and the royal quarters, were a lot dimmer than the first floor, but no less warm. The beds were actual mattresses dressed in clean white linens and the most luxurious of animal furs instead of the simple wooden straw beds that they had possessed back in Riverwood. Each room was assigned a few maids to keep it neat and tidy, and the children (who had all opted for separate rooms) had rooms with a kindly governess and a lot more interesting toys than they had grown up with. The children, upon seeing the rooms, actually, almost jumped up and down in excitement and upon profusely thanking their uncle for his kindness, bounded into them and headed straight for the toys - Daynila and Veresa for the expensive High Rock imported dolls stacked neatly upon the shelves on the far wall, and Naalia for the picture books stacked in the corner by the bed. Mehra and Ulfric grinned in amusement as they took their leave of the children, the maids and governesses curtsying deeply as Ulfric left their presence.

But there was one thing that bothered them both. Ulfric and Mehra both were hesitant about broaching the subject of where she would sleep until the wedding, and when they got to Ulfric's royal quarters, complete with its own small library filled to the brim with ancient books and with table spaces stacked high with all kinds of papers and journals, Mehra found her interest in Ulfric peaked. She had long since thought of Ulfric as being a neat-freak – which was customary for a soldier, and the exact opposite of Tharsten, but in truth, there was a sort of disordered chaos about the room. It was neat, yes, but the papers, books and journals were scattered all around the room in neat little piles without any seeming rhyme or reason. You could indeed see the floor, however, which was carpeted in thick emerald green and sapphire blue rugs. But there was something . . . _mysterious_ about the room, nevertheless.

"These will be our quarters. This here is my little . . . _library_, I suppose you could call it. Here is oftentimes where I oversee the city's taxes, political memos, those sorts of things, and most of the time with Jorleif. That door there, in case you're wondering," He spoke as he gestured to a closed door on the other side of the room, his voice growing quieter. "Leads to the bedchamber . . ." Mehra glanced behind her and pointed at the door, a small smile playing out on her face.

"M-May I see it? Or do I have to wait for the wedding night like a blushing bride?" She asked, and Ulfric shrugged his big, hulking shoulders, an amused small smile playing out on his features as he did so.

"Be my guest. It will, after all, be your quarters too pretty soon!"

With a grin on her face, Mehra moved to the door, where she shakily grasped the doorknob and swung it open. The sight made her immediately gasp out. The bedroom was twice as large as his study and thrice as luxurious as any other bedchamber in the castle! Instead of the normal featherbed in the room, Ulfric had a King-sized, expertly carved four-poster bed complete with emerald green hangings and dressings, with two thick snow leopard furs spread out on top of it. A large, slightly formidable walk-in fireplace was on the far wall, a fire crackling and popping friendlily in its grate. In front of the fireplace were two chairs and a table with a bowl of fruit set between the said chairs. A dresser and another bookshelf choked with books lined another wall, with a wooden lacquered bathtub tucked into one corner out of the way. An ornately carved changing screen was near the dresser and bookshelf. The floor was lined with plush, emerald green rugs that matched those in the study, and Mehra itched to take off her shoes and feel the lushness of them underneath her feet.

She was in giddy awe! This man had _everything_ - every luxury that could possibly be afforded to him - with a castle almost as big as the one in Solitude, and Mehra knew right then and there, that she had made a good choice in accepting his proposal for marriage.

She heard heavy, booted footfalls behind her and turned around when she heard Ulfric's deep, rugged voice come from behind her,

"I take it from the giddiness on your face that you approve?" He asked her, a hint of amusement obvious in his naturally husky voice, and Mehra nodded, her body trembling in barely-hidden excitement. All this was going to be hers! The magnificent bed, the luxurious furs - the jewels, the clothes! Even the totally awesome fireplace was going to be hers! _Everything_ was going to be hers as soon as they exchanged vows and she acquired the title of Lady of Windhelm . . . and High Queen of Skyrim.

She stood there for a moment, deep in thought but no less speechless. She found that she liked the sound of that . . . the sound of everything that was soon to be hers, including the _very _delectable man standing in the doorway behind her.

"I thank you Ulfric - although I must confess that I will never be able to truly thank you _enough_ for what you have done for us!" She told him, and Ulfric shrugged lazily, his broad shoulders heaving with the movement. Everything about this man oozed his natural sex appeal, and Mehra felt herself drawn to him even more the longer he stood in front of her with his arms crossed in front of that magnificent chest of his and a lazy look to his beautiful blue eyes.

"Don't you dare mention it, Mehra! Your family is my family and it's the least I could do for not getting to Tharsten in time!" He assured her, and Mehra grinned and bit down on her bottom lip. She sashayed over to him and he felt a grin quirk his features as he saw her move over to him. Her arm wrapped around his neck, pulling him down to her, although he made no move to touch her . . . _yet_.

"But I feel like I should thank you somehow!" She spoke in playful guilt, and Ulfric finally allowed himself to grin.

"Oh, I can think of a few ways you could thank me . . ." He murmured, and Mehra grinned coquettishly as she pushed him away.

"Fine. Be a good little boy and go sit down on the bed, now! I'll be with you shortly!" She told him before she turned around and headed cheerfully toward the changing screen, her hand running across the smooth, carved wood and a grin spreading across her face as she ducked behind it. Ulfric grinned and shook his head at her giddiness as he moved over to the bed, where he sat down on the edge. He leaned back on his hands and crossed his feet at the ankles before him, waiting patiently for Mehra to come out from behind the screen. He couldn't help himself becoming intensely intrigued as to what she had planned for him. He never remembered her ever being this sly and imaginative.

When she finally reappeared from behind the screen, Ulfric felt his breath literally catch in his throat to the point to where his lungs seized up and he could barely _breathe_! She was completely nude, wearing a robe of snowy sabre cat fur . . . _his _robe, of snowy sabre cat fur. It hung down off her shoulders, baring to him a bare inch of enticing cleavage and one shapely bronze leg when she moved. Ulfric swallowed hard as she neared him, his throat feeling as dry and scratchy as dry parchment.

When Mehra reached him, she hiked up the robe and climbed on top of the bed, where she kneeled on her knees above his lap, her fingers quickly shedding him of his furred robe and plucking expertly at the buttons of his clothing. The articles slipped like a secret to the floor when she was done with them, which quickly bore to her his massive chest and clearly defined pectorals. Her hand trailed down his bare chest, feeling the lean, sinewy muscles that rippled and jumped underneath her nailed fingers. A look of pride appeared in her eyes when she felt his breath sharpen and quicken underneath her touch.

She could feel his hardness straining against the cloth of his breeches and resisted the gnawing urge to caress him through the thin, dark fabric.

A dark look of desire appeared in Ulfric's haunting blue eyes and on his handsome face when he saw her bite down on her bottom lip again in thought. Without saying a word, he sat up and gently smoothed his robe down her olive-colored shoulders - the stark white fur falling to pool on the carpeted wood floor underneath them, where it joined his own robe and shirt. Her breathing grew heavy with desire and anticipation of said desire as he did so, and her skin broke out into gooseflesh as his callused hands ghosted over the flesh of her shoulders and arms.

With her nudity bore to him and her skin gleaming golden and bronze in the candlelight like a proud lioness's golden coat, Mehra never before felt her heart beat so hard underneath the desire filled, roving gazes of a man . . . not even when she was with Tharsten.

Ulfric's hands smoothed reverently over her stomach and her hips to rest on the small of her back, where he pulled her to him slightly and latched his mouth onto a dusky nipple. He suckled gently – _greedily_ - at the small dusky peak, his tongue toying with it as one of his hands moved down between her parted thighs. His skilled fingers quickly found the moist curls located there, and they spread her wet, silky lips, her pearl pulsing and throbbing against his thumb as he slipped a finger deep inside of her, then two. Mehra let out a whimpering moan as she immediately brought up her hands to clutch at his shoulders, her head falling back in pleasure at his ministrations. One of her hands moved to tangle in his thick golden locks whose mouth was still attached to her nipple, and he grinned against her breast. She was wet and aching for him, her body begging to be taken, and he would indeed have much fun with her that evening. He would torture her for not choosing him when she had the chance . . . a torture that the both of them would derive much pleasure from, he held no doubt.

And it had been a _very _long time since he had been with a woman who actually desired him.

He withdrew his hand from between her thighs, grinning wolfishly at the sound of displeasure that escaped from her lips when he did so, and he tsked, shaking his head. "I intend to take my time with you, my little High Queen! I don't want your pleasure to be over now, when I've only just begun my torture of you!" Mehra's face was expressionless now. He couldn't even read her eyes. It momentarily balked him but then he grew determined for a look of pleasure to replace that look of blankness on her beautiful face, and he grew cocky once more.

He lowered her gently back down onto the covers behind her and on his knees in front of her, he finished undressing himself, baring more and more skin until he was as nude before her as she was before him. He felt her eyes run hungrily over his lean body, across the banding of muscles stretched taut across his chest and pectorals, his arms with their pipeline-like veins and beautifully sculpted hands. They ran over his jutting sex, long, thick, dusky and strangely beautiful in the dull light. His blue eyes flashed even more, like bright jewels in the light, and Mehra felt the violent urge to touch him - to touch the mortal Ysmir kneeling in front of her, to prove if his stubbled cheeks were as rough as they appeared, if the white scars and nicks scattered all over his body from countless battles were indeed soft and pliable to the touch . . . if he moved as lithe lying in bed as he did walking outside of the bedchamber.

Ulfric was kneeling between her legs now, her sex bared to him, although he scarcely glanced at it. His attention now was on the honeyed figs sitting on the bedside table, the bowl of plain honey sitting beside it to add more flavor to the rare, highly expensive fruit if need be. His eyes brightened in an idea.

He leaned over her and picked up the bowl of amber liquid. He resumed his stature before her and swished it around for a moment, arching an eyebrow in approval as the thick, viscous substance swirled lazily around in the golden etched bowl. It was the best honey from the hives of Goldenglow Estate - the finest gold could buy, in fact! With an eyebrow still arched, he turned his gaze onto her once again.

"I've always loved honey, but you can never find it here in Windhelm - I always have to import it in from Riften, and by _Ysmir _is it expensive . . .!" He spoke with a roll of his eyes. His voice trailed off, though, as he poured a long strand of honey on a dusky nipple. He then bent down and licked every drop of the honey from her breast, leaving not even a whisper of the liquid on the same golden colored flesh, and causing Mehra to shudder and gasp in pleasure. Tharsten had never done nothing like this, something so methodical and planned out - something so . . . _erotic._

Mehra continued to say nothing as he sat up again. She could only watch in barely held back awe and excitement as he poured a long strand of honey down the entire length her body, allowing a bit more to pool in her navel than on the rest of her. He did this with his eyebrows furrowed in concentration – almost as if he needed to get it _just _right – like an artist putting the finishing touches on a beloved painting. He stopped a little bit below her navel and took a taste of it himself before he set the bowl aside on the bedside table. He watched impassively for a moment as the honey drew slowly down her body, running down in-between her thighs, and he slowly licked his lips in a hungry desire as he gazed at the near-exquisite contrast of the golden liquid running languorously down her bronze body. Her arms were lying at right angles above her head and she kept them there as Ulfric held himself above her on his hands, first capturing her lips with his in a slow, passionate kiss - his tongue filling her mouth deliciously. She tasted the honey on his lips and tongue, and resisted the urge to bring him closer to her. She couldn't bare the thought of ruining whatever plans he had made by pouring the honey on her. She was interested to see where this would lead.

His lips eventually left hers, where they trailed down her body, lapping up the golden honey as he went, his tongue delving into her navel to lap up the small pool when he reached it. When he continued down lower on his path, Mehra's breath hitched and her eyes widened in horror when she realized what he was about to do. She sat up, grasped him by the shoulders and pushed him back, using more strength than she realized in order to move his heavy weight. The look on his face was one of genuine confusion at the look of pure, unadulterated horror on her face and in her eyes.

"Mehra, what - did I do something wrong?" He asked her in immediate concern as his hands took a gentle hold on her arms, but Mehra simply swallowed heavily and shook her head.

"What you are about to do . . . it is _forbidden_, Ulfric! No one that is of Imperial blood does it! It is one of the ultimate taboos – Hell, it's _outlawed _in Cyrodiil!" Ulfric furrowed his eyebrows in confusion even more.

"In Skyrim, it is a way to honor your lover, to honor Mara, who dwells within her womb! It is a way to bring her to pleasure even before you are married and when intercourse is a taboo in and of itself . . ." He pressed a gentle hand to her shoulder and pushed her back against the pillows again. She reluctantly obeyed him, her body still tense. "Lie back Mehra and trust me! Relax and you'll enjoy it, I promise . . ." He reassured her quietly and without breaking eye contact, he buried his mouth in-between her thighs, lapping up the honey coating her as he firmly grasped her thighs in his hands.

Almost immediately, her head slammed back onto the pillows behind her and her hips almost bucked out of his hands. She heard him chuckle huskily again as she settled and relaxed once more. His fingers caressed her outer flesh, and his tongue flattened and lapped her entire opening. Oh, it felt wondrous! It felt as if all her nerve-endings were all in that one place! Her body tensed and stiffened, only to relax at his next long lick, which would both soothe and stimulate her.

Slowly, so slowly, Ulfric licked her from top to bottom, again and again, varying the pressure and timing of his strokes, and Mehra felt the warmth of her juices seep from her some more. Each time they did he lapped them up greedily. Every so often he would stiffen his tongue and tease at her . . . her . . .

The thought never finished itself, for Ulfric continued to use his lips and tongue to gently and slowly coax her body into an every-growing tenseness that no longer eased. Instead, it built more and more until she was aching all over and craving a release that she for some reason, didn't understand.

Ulfric did not give it to her, however. He continued to slowly lick and tease her now as he inserted two fingers inside her slick, tight passage and fixed his mouth over her sensitive nub. He suckled it earnestly and when it was fully inside his mouth he firmly pressed his tongue down and flicked it rapidly back and forth. His fingers bent inside of her and he thrust them faster and harder.

Mehra's breathing was now so ragged and desperate that she was nearly choking. Her body was suddenly completely out of her control. Involuntarily, she struggled and writhed. But Ulfric had apparently been expecting this because he was able to hold her firmly as she thrashed more and more violently.

He stopped a hair's breadth before she hit her peak and with her pupils dilated in desire and her chest heaving, he grasped both her legs at the knees and pushed them back until they were on his shoulders. She moved to grip the sabre cat furs beneath her, and shivered with anticipation. She could feel the air cooling the moisture within her folds as he spread her, exposed her. For a brief moment, he hesitated, his eyes searching hers for something - oh by the Nine, was he seeking permission _now_, of all times?!

She saw a flicker of concern in his blue eyes behind the heated desire smoldering there, and wondered at it for a moment. However, she was too far gone to be able to reason it out clearly. "Please . . . Ulfric . . .!" She whimpered, desperately thrusting her hips upward, seeking and begging to be finally filled by him . . . the man she had wanted to marry so long ago - to claim her in the exact same way as he was about to.

A dark look of desire speared through his eyes at the sound of his name on her lips laced by such a deliciously begging tone, and he found that he needed no more further invitations. In one convulsive movement, he was deep inside of her and Mehra cried out at the sheer pleasure of his hardness stretching her. The brief gentleness in him was gone and found itself replaced by an intense, primal hunger. Pushing her legs back even further, he began to pound ruthlessly into the very core of her being. With each thrust, he brutalized that spot deep inside of her, sending waves of shocking ecstasy throughout her sweat-slicked body. Every sense seemed starkly aware: the taste of blood in her mouth from when she had bitten down on her swollen lip - the smell of him - leather, sweat, and the scented oils he used while bathing. The sound of his moans and grunts as he pistoned relentlessly into her, filled her head like the angry buzzing of a swarm of bees, and the scorching heat between their bodies as they moved together in a sinuous unison added a heat to their lovemaking that could not have been achieved elsewhere.

Her head fell back against the furs and pillows of the bed, her mouth agape as her nails dug into the flesh of his chest and back, and a brief thought surfaced about how this was what it was like to be _taken_ by a man - the thought that this was so terribly Nordic, so terribly _Skyrim_! And then she realized that she wanted no other man to do this with her that this determined future High King - this rebel turncloak who had killed his King and was now demanding the throne like an impertinent younger son!

Her petite body shook beneath Ulfric's powerful thrusts and their incoherent cries came together in a chaotic chorus, screams and cries of pleasure that seemed to shake the very stone walls and foundations of the castle. The pulsing knot in the center of her being was tightening, building up so deliciously until . . .

Oh Gods - oh Dibella, oh _Mephala_ - she couldn't . . . she _couldn't_ take this pressure . . .!

It was too much. Her body could no longer hold herself together in one piece. Screaming and moaning Ulfric's name, Mehra's body seemed to _split_. Her body convulsed helplessly beneath him, around him, but he did not relent, he did not allow her to spiral back down. Holding himself deep inside of her, Ulfric grinded and massaged her pearl with his hardness, keeping her at the peak of her orgasm until she could hardly breathe - until tears were going down her cheeks and until his name was constantly on her begging and pleading tongue - forever blackening out Tharsten's name and memory with a vengeance. Then, she felt him stiffen, felt him thrust even deeper, and then he was pulsing, spurting liquid heat deep within her. His roaring cry joined hers and she felt his hips shake with the power of his pleasure. His hands were digging into her hips, so hard that she knew there would be ugly yellow and purple bruises there on the morrow.

And for a time, there was nothing between them . . . nothing but shades of various sensations rippling between them like an aurora shimmering in the winter night sky - the two of them lying there breathless and awed. They could barely speak, could only lie there beside each other in wonderment at what had just happened – what had just occurred between them.

"_Drog lost aaz . . ._" Ulfric managed to breathe out in awe, and Mehra giggled breathlessly despite herself - grinning like an insane person and knowing the Dragon Tongue when she heard it. Ulfric grinned too and laughed breathlessly, neither one of them still believing what had just happened.

_Lord have mercy . . ._

The feel of cool air smoothing and kissing over her sweat-slicked skin brought her mind back to clarity, although not by much. She opened her eyes to find Ulfric patiently watching her, his eyes still glazed hungrily with the aftershocks of his orgasm. His chest and back were crisscrossed with the ugly marks of her nails, his deliciously full lips parted and swollen from their harsh kisses and when he had made such fervent love to her with his lips and tongue. She wondered crazily if that was how he looked like, then what the Hell did she look like with her hair all disheveled and her skin shining with sweat. Hell, there were bruises that she could already feel _forming_, on parts of her body she didn't even know she _had_ but Ulfric clearly did!

She struggled to sit up, finding herself as weak as a newborn babe and discovering that she was too spent to move, her limbs trembling weakly with the effort. Quickly, Ulfric reached out and pulled her up against him as he reclined back against the pillows. She dropped her head to his chest and closed her eyes, bombarded with too many feelings to even comprehend what had just taken place between them. She felt the scratch of his neatly trimmed beard against her forehead as he gently rested his chin in the darkness of her hair, one hand stroking the back of her neck while the other rested on the small of her back. They rested quietly like that for a minute before Mehra brought up her head and upon cupping his face in her hands, kissed him gently and wearily. He returned the kiss, sighing in contentment when they broke apart and Mehra rested her head on his sweat and cut littered chest again.

She felt his seed moving within her, running down her thighs along with their sweat, and she felt his chest move with the force of his quiet laughter. "That was . . . that was _amazing_, Mehra! I don't think I've ever come that hard in my life!" He admitted and she heard the barest hint of fear in his voice. She grinned and chuckled as well.

"Perhaps you desire me more than you care to admit, my loving turncloak . . ."

In truth, he was scared . . . _terrified_, even! 'Love as thou wilt' had always been his personal philosophy, and he had lived it up. Sex had always been an enjoyment to him, and emotions had never been involved - not once and especially when he was with his first wife, where sex had been a chore and he derived nothing but the barest hints of pleasure from it. But when Mehra had screamed his name to the heavens with her pleasure as she hit her peak and as her inner muscles convulse around him, he felt everything he had ever thought unravel before him like finely made Elvhen silk. He licked his dry lips, the taste of her wetness mingling together with the honey that he had poured on her was still on his lips and tongue, creating a taste he never wanted to live a day without.

"Maybe I do . . ." He murmured as he took her hand in his and observing it briefly before he lovingly kissing the fingers and before he moved to hold it to his chest. She chuckled in vain satisfaction as she snuggled closer to him, her face burying into the warmth of his chest. He felt the woman's breathing slowly go down to a dull pressure, and he knew that she was in a deep sleep. Hell, with an orgasm that massive, he wouldn't blame her if she slept the whole day tomorrow.

He, however, knew he would be taking company with his thoughts the entire day. He had much to think about and much guilt that gnawed on his soul.


	5. Chapter 5

The next day had been an interesting one, to say the least.

It seemed like every bit of talk on everyone's lips, was the explosiveness of Ulfric and Mehra's lovemaking the previous night - not the latest young woman the Butcher had claimed in one of his bloody tirades, nor the Dragonborn that – rumor had it – was on her way to Windhelm to join the Stormcloaks instead of the Legion like had been previously thought. It was somewhat irritating, but Ulfric knew well how fickle the people could be, and did not take any of them to heart.

Mehra never went downstairs the next morning; she was still in bed sleeping when he was getting dressed, and when she finally awoke around noon, the rest of her day was to be spent with her children until dinner was called. So Ulfric ended up getting the blunt of it, especially from his best friend and brother-in-arms, Galmar Stone-Fist, who had clapped a hand on the younger man's back and thrust a flagon of ale into his hand first thing when he saw him.

"For the sake of _Talos_, Ulfric, I thought you two were slaying a Dragon last night garnering the sounds that came out of those rooms!" He spoke, his wheezing laughter making Ulfric grin as well. Galmar's laughter was infectious, no matter how sober the cause of it was.

"Does _everyone _know about last night, Galmar?" Ulfric hissed at him, his grin becoming faker and faker the longer he kept it on his face, and Galmar laughed uproariously again.

"What do you mean, '_everyone_'!? Hell, the _Gods_ and even the people of Markarth heard you two last night! And needless to say, they're probably jealous! Tell me, did you break the bed? You broke the bed, didn't you? _Damn_, that was a nice bed!"

Ulfric shook his head but caught the looks of dreamy, blushing awe on some of the serving girls' faces, nonetheless. Galmar noticed and chuckled as he clapped a hand on his Lord's shoulder and steered him in the direction of the war room. "No, we didn't break the bed, although it was probably sorely tempted to at times . . ." Ulfric told him quietly as he took a sip of his ale, and Galmar continued to chuckle.

"Needless to say, you're going to be the subject of a lot of young girl's wet dreams for a _long_ while since everyone figured out you're a regular _God_ in bed!" He told him, and Ulfric groaned in exasperation.

"I don't know what happened, Galmar! First, I was giving her a harmless tour of the castle, introduced her daughters to their rooms – which they _loved_, by the way! – and the next, I'm showing her our future quarters and then we're fucking each other's brains out!"

Galmar laughed. "That's easy Ulfric! She saw the rooms! You're handsome, rich and expected to grow _very_ powerful in the next upcoming year! Quite frankly, I'm not surprised she seduced you into fucking each other's brains out!" Ulfric put his head in his hands, suddenly very conscious of the migraine that was threatening to pound away at the walls of his skull. His good friend and advisor, Jorleif, entered the war room not long after he did, forcing back a yawn from threatening to break across his features. He bowed low to Ulfric, who nodded, telling him that he was free to enter. "So does this mean that there is _definitely_ going to be a marriage?"

"Just . . . tell me what's new with the Stormcloaks and the city. And yes, there is _definitely_ going to be a wedding after this. I cannot risk her getting with child and the child being declared a bastard. That will certainly set the Imperials on me like hounds to a racing hart!" He spoke, somewhat bitterly, and Galmar shook his head as he leaned on the map table. The older man's eyes scanned the map of Skyrim stretched out and nailed to the table on animal skin, red and blue flags covering the surface, which depicted which side the holds were throwing their lot in on. So far, there was more hold for the Imperials than they were for the Stormcloaks, but they all expected that to change soon. Opposition against the Legion was growing every day, and if the Dragonborn did decide to join the Stormcloaks, they could very well expect an influx in soldiers.

"Nothing new with the Stormcloaks, really," Galmar spoke, sighing. "Other than the fact that there are rumors abounding that the Dragonborn is coming here to join up . . ." Ulfric nodded.

"Yes, I heard about that . . . is there any truth to it?" Galmar shrugged as Jorleif took over.

"Patrols have reported seeing her on the road bound for here and she _did_ seek refuge at the Whiterun Stormcloak Camp located on the road between here and Whiterun. She appeared to be trying to stay neutral, but it was clear she leaned more towards sympathy for our cause, than for the Legion. Of course, it _could_ be nothing, but we shouldn't necessarily mark it out as false either." Ulfric nodded in agreement.

"I, for one, agree. Keep the eyes of the patrols open and order for them to send word as soon as she is spotting approaching the city gates . . . _if _she arrives at the gates of the city, that is." Jorleif inclined his head.

"Your command is my will, my Lord, although I do not think that is needed! She has sent ahead a courier informing us that she will be arriving not soon before this afternoon with her Housecarl, two horses and some bags I have also . . . heard tales of her beauty," He began, starting out somewhat hesitantly, but growing in confidence as he spoke. "I have heard tales of how she is as beautiful as a Valkyrie, with hair the color of cornsilk and skin as pale as the newly fallen snow . . . a perfect Nordic woman . . .!"

Ulfric knew where Jorleif was going as he continued to praise Genvissa's beauty, but Ulfric wasn't listening. He was gazing out the nearby window, into the seemingly eternal blizzard that raged outside, his mind completely gone from the room and Jorleif's words. He was too busy remembering the previous night, and a small, almost loving smile appeared on his face as he soon started reminiscing.

_I have no doubt of this woman's beauty, but no woman would ever look as beautiful to me as Mehra had last night . . ._ Ulfric thought to himself, remembering how Mehra had fit so comfortably snug in his arms. He remembered how heavenly her scent was when they made love, and how she had tasted on his tongue that morning when they had woke up and made love again, her back arching impossibly off the bed and her keening moans falling forth from her lips as he speared her with his tongue . . .

"My Lord, are you listening to me?"

Ulfric jumped slightly and turned his attention undividedly onto Galmar and Jorleif, who were gazing at him with a look of amusement on their faces. Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced was holding back laughter across the room. Blush darkened his face slightly when he realized his mouth had become watery at the thought of Mehra naked in his bed, legs spread enticingly . . .

"I'm sorry Jorleif . . . were you saying something?"

"Well, I was speaking of the beauty of this Genvissa, the Dragonborn, and how it would benefit our cause greatly if you were to extend a marriage proposal to her – something that she will no doubt bring up herself, I have no doubt! But I find your mind is . . . _elsewhere_?" Ulfric smiled weakly as he stood.

"My mind is indeed elsewhere, Jorleif. It is with my brother's widow, in the room where she surely is now, with the children that should be mine - that _would _be mine if I hadn't been forced to marry Arya!" He told his friends, his voice laced with venom and bitterness, and Galmar shook his head.

"Your father decreed on his deathbed that you marry the Forsworn Princess Arya, Ulfric, to try and make peace with the Forsworn before any war could be started. And you_ did_, my Lord . . . although a fat lot of good it did you in the end!"

"But think about it, my Lord!" Jorleif spoke up immediately after Galmar fell silent. "It will make sense in the eyes of your people, as well as strengthen our policies and cause if you married this woman! She is a Nord as well as being the Dragonborn, so it would make sense for you to marry her, speaking she knows our ways! The people will love her because of that! What is the reason for marrying your brother's Imperial widow, if I may ask? Are you marrying her for _love?_"

"_Love_, is exactly why I'm _not _going to marry this Dragonborn woman, Jorleif! I realize that what she is, combined with the fact that I too am versed in the Thu'um, will give me and the Stormcloaks unparalleled support! But . . . I refuse to marry a woman that I do not love - not again, anyway! I refuse to go through that pain again." Galmar nodded and stepped forward.

"If I may speak freely my Lord . . .?" Ulfric nodded.

"You may always speak freely with me, Galmar!"

Galmar nodded in thanks before he began. "You married the Forsworn Princess Arya, as per your father's wish, but now that she is dead along with the child she would have bore you, you are free to marry _whomever_ you wish, be it your brother's widow or this Dragonborn woman!" He shot Jorleif a scathing look. "It is _your _choice to make, not anyone else's anymore!"

"There will be opposition to you marrying the Lady Mehra . . . you do know that, do you not, my Lord?" Jorleif sighed, almost as if he knew he was defeated. Ulfric nodded.

"I know that well; however, there will opposition to me marrying either one of them, you must also know _that_! But I am not going to allow Mehra to pass me by again and I _refuse_ to marry this Dragonborn woman, no matter how much support she could bring to our cause! I want the people to support me because of _whom _I am and _what _the Stormcloaks stand for, not just to join up because the Dragonborn is marrying their leader and giving birth to their son in eight to nine months! I'm not doing that when Mehra could very well do the same thing!" Galmar nodded.

"That is a wise path, my Lord." He spoke and Jorleif rolled his eyes.

"At least meet with the woman when she arrives, my Lord! If you do not greet her to court her, then make it for pure courtesy's sake!" He told him and Ulfric nodded.

"Yes, I suppose I will, Jorleif - it is only fitting. Inform me of when she is seen approaching the gates, I think I will slip upstairs and visit with Mehra and the children . . . see how they are faring." Galmar nodded as him and Ulfric clasped arms for a moment before they went their separate ways. Ulfric bowed his head to Yrsarald, who promptly returned it.

Ulfric moved towards the stairs that led to the second floor while Galmar and Yrsarald stayed in the war room. Jorleif bowed one last time before he turned on his heels and left the room to begin preparations to receive the honored Dragonborn, feeling a vain bitterness appear in his bones at the realization that he had just been double-teamed.

Ulfric ascended the stone steps and continued down the hallway to where Daynila's chambers had been set up and where the other four Heart-Fangs would be located as well. He waited on the threshold for a moment, smiling at the amount of familial love there was in the room that seemed to warm the confined space even more-so than the actual fire in the fireplace did. Daynila and Veresa were teaching the young Naalia a simple card game while Mehra sat beside their governess not far off, Thorald in her arms in a swaddle of furs that had been richer than anything her and Tharsten could ever have afforded, while the babe's nanny sat beside Mehra knitting a blanket for her young newborn grandson. Ulfric gazed upon the scene, at the beautiful children that should have come from his loins, the woman who should have been his wife and would be soon. He was in awe for a moment at her beauty and the way the fire danced off her olive skin and sable colored hair, making it appear soft and glossy to the touch.

Ulfric's presence was soon announced by the three girls looking up and breaking out into broad beams of joy. They hopped up, cards scattering everywhere, only to be picked up by a silent maid. The three girls ran into a laughing Ulfric's arms, yelling over and over, "Uncle Ulfric! Uncle Ulfric!"

He greeted them back with hugs and light kisses on their foreheads, but his eyes were only for Mehra. She smiled at him, blush tingeing her cheeks and her lungs breathless with remembrances at the previous night and that morning's languid lovemaking.

"How has your morning been, love?" Ulfric asked her kindly as he stood and made his way over to Mehra and Thorald, where he pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. It was a kiss that the both of them wanted so badly to make more passionate and deeper, but with the children, maids and Thorold's nanny there, it would have been a foolish notion unless they wanted even more gossip to line the streets of Windhelm. Mehra nodded.

"My morning has been very good. What about yours?" Ulfric nodded and crouched down beside her, where he grinned.

"It's been a good morning, relatively speaking. It had been filled with nothing but policymaking and red tape! However, there have been whispers flitting throughout the city and the castle as of this morning - I beg you to not heed them!" He told her and Mehra nodded as she reached up and smoothed a hand over his stubbled cheek. Ulfric leaned into Mehra's gentle touch, even going so far as to grasp it within his and bring it to his lips. He kissed the palm, the fingers, his eyes never leaving hers, and Mehra's eyes softened.

"Yes, I know of them. Dro'Nahrahe has been as kind as to inform of them . . ." She nodded to the Khajiiti nanny sitting beside her, and Ulfric nodded in both greeting and understanding.

"Good. I would hate for you to have been blindsided by them when you come down for dinner tonight. There will be an important guest coming to stay with us and to join our cause . . ." He trailed off, not knowing how to describe her, not knowing _if _he wanted to describe her right now. It was enough that he was in the gaze of his beloved and he wanted nothing to spoil the moment.

Mehra smiled a comfortingly small smile, nonetheless. "The Dragonborn known only as Genvissa Gray-Mane is coming to join the Stormcloaks." She told him and he nodded, gazing at her in incredulity.

"How . . . how did you . . .?" Mehra laughed as she gently handed Thorald off to the cat-like nanny and turned so that she was facing Ulfric. He shifted so that he was sitting in front of her, his head moving to fall back in her lap. She moved a lock of his golden hair out of his eyes, her eyes and face soft and loving when she gazed down upon his handsome features.

"It is hard not to hear how excited the maids are when they are going around for their morning perusals. . ." She told him, her hands moving across his forehead, down his cheekbones to settle on his broad, robed chest. He grinned and laughed.

"Ah yes, the maids . . . I should have figured!" Mehra laughed lightly.

"Yes, the maids do like to talk . . ." She gave him a curious look. "If you do not mind me asking, Ulfric . . . why are you so worried about her?" Ulfric sighed and moved to where he was kneeling in front of her again.

"Jorleif is insisting that I extend a marriage proposal to her at once, almost as soon as she arrives . . . that I greet her under cloth of estate as my future wife. He claims that she being a Nord and the Dragonborn will give our cause unparalleled support with the populace and with the rest of the Jarls in general. I told him I wouldn't do it. Actually, I flat out _refused_ to do it!" Mehra gazed at him in slight shock.

"You . . . told him no . . .?" She asked slowly, and Ulfric took her hands again, where he pressed them to his lips.

"I could not marry someone I did not love and leave the one I did, alone! I am not willing to leave you again, Mehra! I did it once – an act that I have regretted for the last thirteen and a half years of my life - and I'm _not_ doing it again! You gave me a taste of Sovngarde last night when I was inside you and I _refuse _to give that up!"

At first, he didn't know what she was thinking. The look on her face was beyond the realm of comprehension and the longer she gazed at him with that look on her face, the harder his heart pounded in his chest and the more he felt himself sweat bullets underneath it. Finally, that look broke and one of love and relief flooded into its place. He let out a relieved sigh and a silent prayer of thanks to Stendarr and Mara both.

"Oh thank you, Ulfric!" She murmured, tears in her eyes. "I know . . . how difficult it will be for the people to accept me as High Queen, but . . ." Ulfric silenced her by clasping his hands on her shoulders and pressing his lips to hers. Damn the witnesses, damn everyone, Ulfric was tired of bridling and hiding their love!

They broke apart to a stunned looking nanny, maids and children, but Ulfric simply smiled a small smile. "They _will _accept you, Mehra!" He told her firmly. "They will accept you, _just _like they will accept the girls and Thorald as their Prince and Princesses!"

Again, it looked like Mehra didn't know what to think, and this time, she truly didn't. At first, she was speechless, but then found her voice. "Prince and Princesses - Ulfric, are you talking about _adopting _my children?!" Ulfric bowed his head.

"I will adopt them with your permission, of course!" He told her and with the look of skepticism immediately evident on her face, he hurried to explain himself. "Mehra, your children need a father, something that Tharsten can no longer provide for them! Thorald especially needs a father - a guiding hand in his upbringing! If I adopt them and they take the Stormcloak name, Daynila, Veresa and Naalia can make very fortuitous marriages - very _happy _marriages that will make them want for nothing in their lives! Thorald can become my or another nobleman or Jarl's squire and then go on to make a happy, fortuitous marriage himself, with a sawmill empire and a farm that would make even the richest plantation owner envious! _Surely_ you can see how nothing but good can come of this if we play our cards right!"

And really, Mehra couldn't find anything in it _but_ good. However, the only qualm she _did _have about it was that her children would no longer be considered Tharsten's children – as Heart-Fangs. As soon as it was finalized that Ulfric had adopted them as his own and they took the Stormcloak name instead of Heart-Fang, as far as the populace and the Jarls were concerned, the children were of Ulfric's blood and seed, fit to inherit any titles he bestowed upon them. In fact, given a few years with the absence of Tharsten and the addition of any new healthy, robust babies that would enter the nursery, they would all begin to think that they were _actually _of Ulfric's seed, not his nieces and nephews that he had adopted when he married their widowed mother, especially if Ulfric started saying they were his instead of Tharsten's.

And Mehra didn't know if she wanted that.

Mehra gazed at her children playing again, at the baby boy that slumbered peacefully in his nanny's arms beside her, and she began wondering if everything Ulfric said was really true. Would her children ever advance in the world like Ulfric had said they would if they weren't legally his? Would Daynila and Veresa and Naalia marry the sons of Jarls and Kings without carrying the name 'Stormcloak'? Would Thorald _ever_ go on to make the sawmill and plantation in Riverwood the booming economic empire that had been his father and Gerdur's dream without being known as Ulfric Stormcloak's son?

Mehra knew in her heart that they wouldn't. Ulfric was the key to their own mortal Sovngarde – Hell, he had _shown_ her Sovngarde last night and that morning – and she would be a fool to give any of it up. After all, Tharsten was dead and buried in an unmarked grave somewhere in Whiterun. He wasn't coming back and there was nothing that Mehra could do about it – no amount of tears could ever bring him back. It was up to her now to make the good life for their children that Tharsten had wanted, and if marrying his oldest brother and allowing him to adopt their children opened the door for that good life, then so be it. Maybe in time . . . they _would_ believe that they were Ulfric's children as well. Hell, Thorald certainly would! Ulfric would be all he ever knew, unlike his sisters.

She smiled a small smile and bowed her head, her lips still tingling from the aftershocks of his kiss. She still mourned Tharsten greatly - more than anything did she miss him - but for some reason, Ulfric was different. He kissed her like a man on the brink of starvation finally finding food - made love to her like an animal finally finding its true mate, and the way he felt inside of her was . . . there were no words to describe it! She loved it. She loved it all, every minute of it!

She loved how his kisses always stole away her breath away, how the hardness of his muscles jumped underneath her fingertips. She loved the feel of him moving inside her with an intimacy and an urgency that Tharsten never seemed to get - a kind of making love that was full of love and devotion, and Ulfric was nothing to her except devoted. He treated her like the Queen she would surely become, like the Goddess he viewed her as, and she found that she could not object. She found that she could only love him and his good-hearted actions.

"If you will indeed marry me, then you also have my permission to adopt my children." She told him and Ulfric immediately broke out into a broad grin. He kissed her again, another deep, breathless, soul-searching kiss that had her grinning like a schoolgirl who had just snuck a kiss with her first crush. Indeed, Ulfric _had _been her first crush.

There was a polite knock on the door as Ulfric hugged her to him tightly, and Mehra breathlessly called out for the person to enter. It was a maid, who curtsied low when she entered the room. "Forgive me for the interruption, milord, but you ordered to be alerted when the Dragonborn reached the gates . . .?" A look of shock appeared on Ulfric's face as he gently disentangled himself from Mehra.

"She's here . . . _now_?!" He demanded and the maid nodded her head.

"Yes milord . . . Advisor Jorleif said you'd want know milord."

Ulfric's jaw hardened as he stood. "Jorleif . . .!" He growled as he stalked from the room, the maid fallowing meekly behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

By the time Ulfric got down to the main hall, dressed in his newest robes, the robes that he would wear to that night's dinner, the Dragonborn and her Housecarl had already been admitted to the castle and their cloaks taken from them. Jorleif bounded after his Lord, wary of Ulfric's boiling anger at him.

"I did not mean any impertinence, Ulfric, it's just -!"

"That is _enough_ Jorleif!" Ulfric silenced him bitterly, his tone teetering on the edge of anger. "Just don't presume to know what and what not I know from now on, understand?" Jorleif quickly nodded that signified that he did, indeed, understand what Ulfric was telling him. He then marveled at the quickness with which Ulfric's anger disappeared in an air of welcome and joviality when he was faced with the infamous Dragonborn, Genvissa Gray-Mane.

Of course, Jorleif had not lied about the woman's beauty. Genvissa was a Nord of native Skyrim blood and was bigger than most Nordic women as well. She stood at approximately six feet and a height that Ulfric still towered over her with. Her eyes were like shards of iced glass -cold and piercing. Her hair, which was a gorgeous silvery blonde, fell down to her waist in a thick, cascading waterfall of shining waves - a stark contrast to her female Housecarl's pitch black locks. An enchanted longsword was attached to her waist, her leather armor fitting snugly to her curvaceous frame. If he wasn't already passionately in love with someone else, Ulfric would wager that he would be in love with the Dragonborn at that moment.

Ulfric bowed slightly when he neared her and she smiled flirtatiously and returned the courtesy with a curtsy. "I welcome you to Windhelm, my Lady. I trust the journey went well?"

He knew it didn't, but it was courteous to ask anyway.

Genvissa shrugged and threw her heavy mane of wintery locks behind her. "It went better than expected - thank you for asking Jarl Ulfric. We were delayed by packs of wolves and a few sabre cats, but other than that, it was clear roads until we hit Eastmarch. Then we hit this . . ." She waved her hand through the air in slight disgust. "Then we hit this-this _blizzard_!" Ulfric grinned and chuckled as he offered her his arm. She took it graciously and he led them to the war room, where they would begin their discussion about the Stormcloaks and whether or not Genvissa Silver-Mane really wanted to join them.

"That's something you'll have to learn about my hold, my Lady. Some parts of Skyrim can actually be quite warm, but Eastmarch is the snowiest hold in Skyrim and unfortunately, it stays this way much of the year." Genvissa nodded although there was a slight glumness to her features that Ulfric did not fail to notice. If she did indeed intend to put forward an engagement proposal, perhaps the weather had just given her reason not to.

They entered the war room a few moments later, where Galmar Stone-Fist and Ulfric's younger brother, Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced were hunched over the map table, talking quietly to themselves. They immediately stopped, however, when Ulfric and Genvissa entered the room. Ulfric smiled genially at his friend and brother, although both of them saw that Ulfric was dearly wishing he could be upstairs with Mehra and the children than downstairs entertaining a woman that he had no intention of marrying.

"Men, this is the Dragonborn, Genvissa Gray-Mane. Genvissa, these are two of my most trusted advisors and best friends, Galmar Stone-Fist and my younger brother, Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced. Boys, Genvissa here wishes to join the Stormcloaks!"

Galmar and Yrsarald did a good job of showing their appraisal but even then, it would have taken an idiot to see that it was more amusement than anything. They liked Mehra, both as a woman and as their future Queen, and their loyalty to her was absolute. This Dragonborn would have to try pretty damn hard to win their allegiance in anything, especially if Mehra Heart-Fang did not like her, which chances were, she would not.

"Well, actually, there is something else I would also like to talk about before we get into my joining the Stormcloaks . . ." Genvissa piped up, her hand moving to settle onto Ulfric's chest. Galmar and Yrsarald chuckled when they saw a look of annoyance appear on Ulfric's face. If there was anything in a woman since Arya the Forsworn Princess found herself married to him, it was that Ulfric hated petulance, false or real. This Dragonborn would go nowhere in the Stormcloaks if she kept pulling that out in front of him every chance she got.

"If we could . . . talk in private, maybe . . .?" She asked him, and Ulfric gestured to the door, silently telling them to beat it but stay outside the doors just in case. They nodded and left, gazing at him pointedly as they went, reminding him of the women and children that waited upstairs for him, especially Yrsarald. Ulfric returned his brother's intent gaze, telling him that he could never forget them, before he walked to the table holding the nailed down map, where he leaned upon it.

"So, what did you wish to discuss, Dragonborn?" He asked and Genvissa smiled, her eyes flashing at hearing him call her 'Dragonborn' instead of her actual name.

"You do not have a wife, am I correct?" She asked, a tad hesitantly, and Ulfric shook his head.

"No I do not. Arya died last year in the childbed, as did the child. Is this what you want to talk about . . . a marriage between us?"

Genvissa nodded, her eyes lighting up at the prospect that he had been thinking of the exact same thing. "Why yes, I am! You see, Jarl Ulfric, I am Dragonborn while you are a master of the Thu'um. Not-to-mention, we are both Nords and with strong bloodlines at that! I will be accepted easily by the people as High Queen and my family is fertile in sons, both on my mother and father's side. I bring fertility, you bring power and riches. We both benefit greatly." She told him and Ulfric nodded slowly. He thought for a while before he answered.

"You make good, irrefutable points, Genvissa. But, unfortunately, I regret to inform you that I am already betrothed."

Genvissa stood stock still for a moment, her eyes unblinking and her body unmoving. It was almost as if the mere idea that Ulfric was already taken, was simply impossible. When she answered, her voice was quiet and dangerous. Ulfric's hand twitched to lie casually across the hilt of his blade, although he doubted it would need it with Galmar and Yrsarald stationed outside the door. At the mere _hint _of an unsheathing blade that was not the familiar sound of Ulfric's bastard longsword, Genvissa would find the blade of one of Yrsarald's throwing daggers embedded in her back before she could even take a swing at the Jarl of Windhelm. The subsequent look on her face as she thought things out, told him that she knew it too. She expertly switched tactics instead, and settled on tact.

"May I inquire as to whom it is you are marrying, Jarl Ulfric?"

"I am marrying my brother's widow, the Lady Mehra Heart-Fang. I believe you two are . . . already acquainted?"

The look of rage in her eyes would have been comical, had Ulfric been in the right mood.

The Jarl of Windhelm sighed and stood then, where he moved around the table, flicking at the blue flags as he went. Blue flags were for Stormcloaks, Red for the Imperials. "Her and our children both are here, eagerly awaiting the date of the wedding. We will be announcing it this evening at dinner." He told her, but the look of disgust on Genvissa's face could not be hidden.

"But . . . she is an _Imperial_! Her people and the Altmer are the very ones you are fighting!" She told him and Ulfric nodded.

"True, I am fighting the Imperials and the Altmer, but not Mehra. She married my brother as a show of good faith to the Stormcloaks, and after his execution for the murder of an Imperial loyalist, me and my advisors thought it was prudent for me to marry her. We thought that maybe, since she is an Imperial herself, her blood would get more Imperial loyalists to change sides." He sighed then and shook his head for a moment before he spoke again,

"Genvissa, there is one thing you _must _understand about me and my cause. I fight for the men and women I've held in my arms, dying on foreign soil. I fight for their wives, husbands and children whose names I've heard whispered in their last breaths. I fight so that all the fighting I've already done hasn't been for nothing! I fight . . . because I must."

Genvissa shook her head stubbornly. "I can't believe this!" She told him. "Marrying her would be hypocritical!" Ulfric gazed at her, one of his eyebrows rising in amusement.

"Would it really? How is it hypocritical to marry a woman who believes in the same ideals as you? Mehra has given me four children - all of them are half Nord and as strong, hearty and robust as the next child. All she wants is a better place to raise them in, and together, this is our vision now. Besides, I thought you liked her better than you are putting on now?" Genvissa nodded.

"Yeah, I liked her when she was married to your farmer of a brother, not fucking up my plans by conveniently inserting herself into your bed!" She snapped and the corner of Ulfric's jaw twitched in slight anger.

"That farmer of a brother of mine was recently executed in Whiterun for the murder of an Imperial loyalist!" He snapped back, causing her to recoil slightly. "He was framed and I knew it and I brought proof to Whiterun, but still, they executed him! The Imperialists and the Thalmor demanded it, or else they would have laid siege to the entire city, allowing no one quarter – not even women and children! After that, they tarred his head and embedded it on a stake outside Solitude's gates as a reminder to the populace on what happens to traitors and then gleefully reminded everybody that he was my brother. His body was dumped in an unmarked grave somewhere in Whiterun's cemetery, where no one can go to mourn him, especially his still grieving widow! I fight this war for the brother I have wronged - for the brother that I begot four children off of his wife underneath his very nose! You talk about my farmer of a brother like you know everything! Well, let me tell you -_Dragonborn_ - you _know nothing_!"

Ulfric stood then and took out his dagger, where he buried it in the wood, the point right where Whiterun was. He glared at her, his eyes sparking with anger. "So if you are going turn around and walk out that door and head to Solitude so that you can spitefully join the Imperialists, then bring them a message while you're at it: tell them that Whiterun is first. Then, after I take over Whiterun, I will tear Solitude down, brick by brick if I have to, to get my brother and his widow the justice they deserve!"

Genvissa shrugged, stunned by his words. The ferocity and the passion of this man astounded her. No wonder he was the leader of this rebellion and his intentions – all of them – were quite noble. "I wasn't . . . I wasn't going to do that." She told him and Ulfric quirked an eyebrow in amusement. He grasped the handle of his dagger and with a powerful yank, tore it from the wood and the map. He sheathed it seconds later, calling for Galmar and Yrsarald to re-enter the room. They did, bowing when they entered, amused smiles on their faces. No doubt they heard every word of Ulfric's tirade and that was good. Let everybody in Skyrim hear that speech . . . it makes it easier on him.

"Galmar, send her on a trust mission and then give her the oath when she comes back – _if_ she comes back!" He quickly corrected himself as he moved to the doors that led to the second floor. He wanted and craved to return to the safety and calm of Mehra's arms, to the familiar and welcoming scent of her hair and her skin . . . but Genvissa's voice held him back.

"Can I at least wait until morning before I depart, my Lord?" She asked, and Ulfric shrugged.

"You could wait until next year if you wanted to, I don't care - this war is going to run its course, with or without you!" He smirked then. "Besides . . . you especially do not want to miss me and my bride announcing our engagement, now do you?"

He didn't wait for her reply. He continued on his way, the door swinging shut behind him. Genvissa crossed her arms in front of her chest. Damn right she would wait until morning. She needed to scope out her competition.

* * *

That evening, the Great Hall was all abuzz at the news that Ulfric Stormcloak would be announcing an engagement, and indeed, they had set up the Hall to anticipate the exact same thing. Three large, long tables had been arranged in the shape of a square in the great hall, open at the bottom and with the royal table set up at the front so that the Jarl could possibly take audiences while feasting. The two other tables served as the two other walls of the square and would seat the nobles asked to attend. Another magnificent chair had been set down beside Ulfric's at the royal table, a resplendent white snow leopard pelt draped over it that was the virtual twin of Ulfric's. The sky blue banners depicting the roaring bear of house Stormcloak were hanging on the walls around the room, accompanied by the red and white banners depicting the fang-pierced heart of the Heart-Fangs.

Genvissa observed the people around her, the soldiers dressed in the immaculately clean leather armor of the Stormcloaks and the women and men, the beautiful, fair, fire and dark haired women and men, wives and husbands who had accompanied the brave soldiers. They all took their places at the tables, a spot left for Genvissa and her Housecarl to his fiancée's right at the royal table. She would have liked to have sat on Ulfric's left, but unfortunately, that coveted spot was property of his younger brother, and the coveted spot next to Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced was owned by that barbaric Galmar Stone-Fist.

Ulfric surrounded him and his betrothed with friends – his most loyal friends – and no matter how Genvissa was starting to detest this 'bride' of his she could not find fault with Ulfric's thought processes. This was not a stupid man ruled by his cock by any means like some people whispered, and he was doing everything in his power to not only assert his new wife into the society he was steadily creating, but keeping her safe and unharmed as he did so.

The doors to the side banged open and Genvissa turned around, right when the cooks and servants were starting to bring out the platters of food to be set on the table. Despite her mood, Genvissa felt her mouth water. No expense had been spared for his new bride, loyal soldiers and court. Whole pigs had been prepared for the feast, laid on the table succulent and oozing a delicious smelling spiced flavor. Deer, rabbit and fish of various kinds had also been prepared, all set down on the table so that there were many different choices of meat. Steaming vegetables of many kinds had been prepared as well – broiled, fried, and steamed – any way you could possibly think of. For dessert (which had yet to come out and which would not come out until the whole table had been cleared when everyone was finished) there were pies of many different flavors, all baked to perfection and glazed with a delicious caramel glaze and a healthy sprinkle of cinnamon. The wine and ale were from Ulfric's best stock of Honeymead, Alto and Blackbriar. There were going to be many drunken soldiers by the night's end, Genvissa would bet anything on that.

"Dragonborn, it is time to take your seat. The Jarl and Lady Mehra will be making their appearances soon . . ." Jorleif chimed in on her right, and after shooting him a tight, but respectful smile, Genvissa did as she was told. She made her way to her seat directly on Mehra's right, her Housecarl Lydia behind her, her eyes wide as saucers at the look of the food steaming on the table.

Genvissa herself had been dressed to perfection, in a gown of sky blue that matched the color of the Stormcloak banners and which brought out the color of her eyes and complimented her silvery-blonde hair. Her hair was in a long braid going down her back and when she took her seat, she smiled smugly at the thought that she was garnering the attention of many men, although something in her mind told her that Ulfric's future bride might garner a little more - much to her chagrin.

When it came time for the dinner to begin, horns sounded throughout the hall, telling everyone that it was time to take their seats. They had done so quickly, everyone in barely concealed excitement over seeing the woman that had captured their King's heart so quickly, and who stubbornly and vehemently _refused_ to let it go.

When everyone was sitting, Ulfric stepped into the hall, alone. Everyone immediately rose from their seats and started clapping and cheering, a broad grin on Ulfric's face as he reached his chair. The chair beside him stood lonely and empty, causing Genvissa to feverishly pray that his betrothed was feeling under the weather or was tending to one of her sick children and would not be able to make it so that Genvissa would have more time to try and bring Ulfric over to the idea that a marriage between them was still the most profitable route. But, however, when Ulfric raised his hands, effectively silencing everyone and began to speak, Genvissa's hopes were soon dashed into the ground.

"May I introduce to everyone, the love of my life - the woman who has created my own mortal Sovngarde . . . my betrothed and future wife and Queen, Mehra Heart-Fang!"

A woman stepped into the room at that note, immediately causing whispers and titters of awe to spread throughout the room and which made Genvissa sulk even more. Mehra Heart-Fang was indeed beautiful, almost – dare she say it – ethereally beautiful. Her long, dark brown hair was in waves hanging down to her rump, her eyes bright and glittering in the light, the same as her endearing, lovely grin. Her gown was of a resplendent cut and made of a cloth that resembled spun gold. The neck was edged in tiny white seed pearls, and hanging around her throat and which plunged into her elegant cleavage, was a diamond necklace with matching earbob earrings. Already, Ulfric was bedecking her in cloth of gold and jewels which only served to heighten her unlawful beauty and Genvissa found that she was right. She herself might be beautiful, but she was nothing compared to the innocent, enticing beauty of Mehra Heart-Fang.

Still beaming, Mehra took Ulfric's outstretched hand and moved around her chair to stand in front of it beside him. It was her turn to address the crowd sitting before them, and it was hard to miss the look of adoration and near-worship on Ulfric Stormcloak's face as he pressed a loving kiss to the smooth skin that made up the back of her hand. This was the woman who had supposedly bore him four children, all who would soon be named legitimate. This was the woman who would gladly continue to bare him children.

"I and my beloved welcome you to our home on this fine evening!" Mehra announced to the guests, her voice strong and unwavering and her eyes still glittering in the light. Her features were made even prettier by the gracious grin on her face. "We are so very pleased that you all could make it and be a witness to our betrothal – and our love!" She spoke, sharing a loving look with Ulfric as she finished, and the people clapped and cheered when she came to a stop. Genvissa was aghast. Not in a million years did she think the soldiers and people would accept her. She was a commoner from Morthal, whereas Genvissa was part of the Gray-Mane clan of Whiterun. But then again, the people would accept anyone who promised their King sons and who had already bore him four healthy children already – one son included!

Genvissa saw the second loving look they shared before sitting down; she could see in their eyes the secret hope of a child that would grow healthy and strong within Mehra's womb . . . the child that would take over Ulfric's throne when he passed on to Sovngarde.

"I have never before seen him in so much love!"

Genvissa recoiled slightly from the sound of a man's voice coming behind her, and turned around, where she saw an older servant placed an empty plate and goblet in front of her and Lydia. Genvissa furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. "But wasn't he in love with his first wife?"

"You mean the Forsworn Princess Arya?" Genvissa nodded, and the servant grinned toothily and whistled. His eyes were on his liege and his lady love at that moment, and Genvissa turned her eyes onto them too, noting with slight revulsion, the way their hands always stayed tightly clasped. "Princess Arya was a gem – one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen – especially for a Reachman! Hair the color of flame – kissed by fire, she was! Had eyes as clear and blue as a summer day in Riften, too! It was a pity when she died in the childbed, and the child with her – the whole city mourned! But no . . . no, the Jarl did not love her and he did not mourn her any second longer than what was proper – oh no!"

"You have any idea why he did not love her?" She asked, and the old man shrugged.

"There have been rumors, of course. Some say he resented the Princess Arya because he resented his father for making the match with Arya's father, Madanach, the King in Rags and the leader of the Forsworn, for him and the Lady Mehra _were _courting at the time -"

A spark of interest lit up Genvissa's eyes at those words. "You mean . . . the Jarl and Lady had a relationship _prior _to her marriage to the Jarl's brother?" The servant nodded.

"Aye, milady - that they did! But other rumors abound too – less . . . _savory _rumors. Some whisper that the Jarl was so bitter at his father for matching him with the woman he did not love, that he had her poisoned on the day she was to give birth, so that both the Princess and her child would die! Then, he framed his own brother with the help of the Lady Mehra, so that Tharsten Heart-Fang would be out of the way for them to marry!"

"But why would the Lady Mehra kill her own husband? When I met her in Riverwood, she seemed to genuinely love him!" The servant shrugged.

"These are just rumors, milady, remember that -!"

"But Ulfric seems so chivalrous – so honorable! I _cannot _see him poisoning his own wife and child and then framing his own brother for execution so that he could get married to a woman that's relationship died well over thirteen years ago!" The servant shrugged.

"Love has always been the battle where men have willingly risked all for winning! The Lady Mehra is a beautiful, gracious and kind woman – as you can no doubt see! The Princess Arya was naïve, timid, quiet and given over to bouts of dangerous melancholy. The Lady Mehra is a breath of fresh spring air for the Jarl, and rightly so! But thank the Gods that there is little to no truth to the rumors!"

Genvissa furrowed her eyebrows in confusion again. "Why do you say that?"

"The Princess Arya, even though she was a native of the Reach, was a huge supporter of the Elves plight here in Windhelm. She would go out into the poor quarter and care for the sick and feed the poor, the dying and the hungry. They loved her and they stoutly refused to believe that her death was simply of Mara's doing! They were the ones who started the rumor that Ulfric had poisoned them and framed his brother and secretly refer to the Lady Mehra as a witch and a whore behind their hands."

Genvissa might not necessarily _like _Mehra, but even she could feel pity for the woman who had all the rage of the Windhelm Elves in her cupped hands.

"Another rumor abounding as to why he did not love her was because she could not love _him_! Some say she . . . _preferred _the company of women to her own husband, and that is why it took so long for them to conceive a child!" Genvissa nodded. This seemed like a much more feasible option. What woman _couldn't _resist Ulfric Stormcloak, even a young girl ripped from the arms of her beloved Reach? There had to be an underlying reason beneath it all and Genvissa would bet all the gold she had to her name that it was because of something having to do with Arya herself.

She smiled and thanked the servant, who bowed and shambled off to finish placing empty goblets and plates in front of the rest of the guests at the table, and whilst Lydia was in a deep, flirtatious conversation with Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced (despite Galmar sitting beside him rolling his eyes), Genvissa observed Ulfric and Mehra sitting at the head of the great table. They were keeping their own company and whilst Genvissa had no doubt that Ulfric could be swayed into another conversation – Mehra too – she knew that deep down, they would resent it. The old servant was right – they were very much in love – with much laughter, grins and hushed words exchanged between them that paused long enough for Ulfric to occasional feed Mehra with a bite off his own dagger.

It was almost sickening how much the couple was in love.

"My Jarl, may I say something?"

Ulfric politely changed his attention away from the hushed conversation he had been having with Mehra, only to turn it upon Torbjorn Shatter-Shield, who was standing a little ways down the right-side table. Ulfric inclined his head to him. "You may speak, Torbjorn, of house Shatter-Shield!" He spoke, his deep, husky voice carrying the entire length of the table and the hall, and Genvissa saw Mehra gently place her free hand on their clasped ones as she craned to see who he was talking to. Torbjorn inclined his head to Ulfric in thanks.

"As you know, my King, this Civil War has taken much from us, whether it is honored, brave soldiers, Princesses and wives -" He inclined his head to Ulfric, who pursed his lips and tightened his hold on Mehra's hand, an act that no one there failed to notice, especially Genvissa. "Or young, beautiful daughters . . ." He trailed off then, referring of course, to his own daughter, Friga Shatter-Shield, who had been recently murdered by the Butcher, Windhelm's own resident psychopath. The rest of the table muttered a quick, quiet prayer to Arkay. Genvissa heard Lydia do it and she saw Mehra's lips outline a prayer as well. Ulfric did nothing as Torbjorn continued on with what he was saying. "And although none of us here would dare go against something as noble as the Civil War, I must ask you . . . what about the problems we have here, at home? What about the Butcher, for one, and the Elvhen and Argonian problem for another!"

"The Dunmer and Argonians as well as the other Elves, will be resolved in due time, Torbjorn, most likely after the war is resolved – this I promise!" Ulfric spoke with a slightly irritated sigh. Genvissa supposed he got this question a lot. "I will not allow any citizen of mine to be manhandled or mistreated for such a simple thing of mistaken birth! But, however, many of my people find that hard to swallow!" His voice was getting testier and testier which caused many of the people there to shoot hesitant looks in Torbjorn's direction. "I do hope _you _are not one of those people, Torbjorn!" The Nord quickly shook his head and Ulfric opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when Mehra laid a gentle hand on his forearm. She swallowed heavily and leaned forward slightly, her hand tightening slightly on Ulfric's. An even greater hush descended in the hall when everyone realized that the Lady Mehra was to speak.

"When I first arrived here in Windhelm and learned of the Butcher through word of mouth, Ser Shatter-Shield, I thought that they were mere tales to scare children at night and to encourage mischievous daughters into obeying their fathers to stay at home once the sun fell!" She closed her eyes then and shook her head. "However, I have heard and found that they are _very_ much real and that they serve as Windhelm's own resident nightmare!" She then took a deep breath and slowly let it out before she turned her eyes onto the older man, steely determination echoing in the beautiful depths of her eyes. "I grieve for your lost daughter, Ser Shatter-Shield, as only a parent who has had a daughter can! Indeed, I have three, and I refuse to allow my daughters to grow up in a place where such a psychopath plies his bloody trade nightly! I promise you – indeed, I promise _everyone_ here tonight – that the Butcher problem will soon be dealt with and that it will never again happen in I and my husband's hold, indeed – our _kingdom_!"

The clapping and cheering that filled the hall almost deafened Genvissa, and the look of pride on Ulfric Stormcloak's face at his fiancée's speech almost made her want to vomit. With tears of thankfulness in his eyes, Torbjorn made his way to the thrones, where he bent down on one knee before Mehra and kissed the back of her hand. She bid him to rise with a kind word and pledged once again to rid Windhelm of the Butcher before he returned to his seat.

A man of Imperial blood stood when Torbjorn retook his seat. A younger man stood with him, presumably his squire or his assistant. "May I approach, my Jarl? I have a gift for the Lady Mehra!" He announced, and Mehra glanced at Ulfric. Although his face itself was expressionless, his eyes belied the worry storming in them. Mehra smiled a small, comforting smile, and nodded. Ulfric sighed and beckoned him forward.

"My love, may I introduce to you Calixto Corrium. He runs Calixto's House of Curiosities here in Windhelm . . ." He spoke as Calixto bowed again as he neared them.

"You are too kind for the introduction, my Jarl!" He spoke, and Ulfric inclined his head back as Mehra leaned forward, giving him her full attention.

"You . . . have a gift for me, Ser Corrium?" Mehra asked him politely, and he nodded and stepped aside where he beckoned the young man with him to come forward.

"I do, my Lady. I bring for you the legendary Book of Fate! Within its pages is said to be written the destiny of its reader!" He spoke as the young man got down on bended knee before her, where he outstretched the book to her. She took it in awe, worry flickering through Ulfric's eyes again. Genvissa chuckled inside. For such a strong, confident man who knew well what he wanted in life, she never would have labeled Ulfric as superstitious.

That or he was afraid of what that book could contain when it came to him and Mehra.

"The . . . Book of Fate, you say?" Mehra asked, her eyebrows furrowing slightly in confusion, and Calixto nodded.

"Yes, my Lady," Mehra gazed at Ulfric.

"Should I, love?" Ulfric shrugged in reply.

"Be my guest . . ." His face was still expressionless, but his words were as worried as his eyes were. He couldn't say no to her . . . she was his Achilles heel – his only weakness. Genvissa knew that, that would most likely be his downfall one dark day.

With a held-in breath, Mehra opened the cover of the book only to find the pages . . . blank. With eyebrows furrowed in confusion, she gazed at Calixto still standing before her.

"Forgive me, Ser, but . . . the pages seem to be blank!" She spoke, and Calixto furrowed his eyebrows in confusion as well as people started to murmur amongst themselves.

"That is most odd, my Lady! I have a . . . _theory_, if I may . . .?" Mehra nodded for him to continue, and he did. "It may mean that . . . you have no preset destiny, unlike the vast majority of Tamriel's inhabitants, my Lady. You see, most mortals are predestined to a certain fate, but in a very few cases, the metaphorical, as well as the literal Book of Fate is blank. These individuals, alone among Tamrielites, have the ability to write their own story," He smiled. "It seems, you my Lady, have the power to narrate your own story!"

Ulfric grinned and laughed. "Well then, it seems that I am most fortuitous in my choice of a wife!" He announced, and laughter ran up and down the tables. Mehra smiled and laughed as well before turning her eyes onto Calixto. She gave the book gently to one of her Ladies before she inclined her head to him.

"I thank you for the gift, Ser Corrium. It was very thoughtful!" She told him and he thanked her and bowed before he too returned to his seat.

The feast went back to normal now that all petitions had been heard and while Mehra and Ulfric descended back into their own little world, Genvissa watched Calixto Corrium with narrowed, suspicious eyes.

Why was he gazing at Mehra like seeing the ghost of a long-lost lover? And _why _did he gaze at Ulfric sitting beside her like he wanted nothing more but to stab him in the heart?


End file.
